


The Funeral

by 4clicksleft



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4clicksleft/pseuds/4clicksleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After there is a death in her family, 26-year-old Quinn Fabray reluctantly returns to Lima to put the past to rest and comes face to face with a few ghosts in the process. Canon through S3. Eventual Faberry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Monday’s child is fair of face._

 

Quinn didn’t know how these things began. With a phone call? With a bag hastily packed and even more hastily thrown into the back of a taxi? 

Were these things enough to throw the lever forward and thrust the whirly-gigs of life into motion? Were these things strong enough to send her _chug-chugging_ up the steep incline like a rollercoaster on a track, only to plummet moments later into oblivion? Or was the catalyst something earlier – something less obvious, less blatant? Could it have been as simple as a weakness hidden in the chambers of the heart that ticked off the minutes until… _boom_.

“Or not really _boom_ ,” she thought wryly. “More like a whimper.” 

She shook these thoughts from her head as the plane landed. “Stop being so morbid,” she berated herself. Thinking these things wouldn’t do her any good now. They wouldn’t change anything.

The fact was her father was dead. Russell Fabray was dead and somehow that was a let down. Not because he was taken too early or left her mother a widow and her and her sister fatherless, but because it didn’t change anything. “I thought I’d feel something more,” she thought with a laugh as she joined the other passengers trying to pull their carry-ons from the overhead bins.    

Dazedly she made her way from the plane to the baggage claim area. She followed the woman with the purple hat who had been on her flight from Boston. Purple hat lady would know which carousel to wait at. Purple hat lady would lead her to her baggage. Purple hat lady would make this easier.

As she came to a stop in front of what she assumed was the right luggage carousel she adopted a pose of nonchalance an appropriate distance from purple hat lady. She wondered where she was going. Why was she at Dayton International at 9:00 PM on a Monday in November? For a split second she considered following purple hat lady out of the airport. She considered following her home and taking up residence in her (what she assumed would be) cute little bungalow in Findlay. She would follow her right into her house and sit in her warm kitchen and drink tea and eat some gingersnaps with her. She would find out that the woman had a collection of brightly hued hats. She would learn about her eight grandchildren. Maybe she would even try on her red bonnet and laugh and laugh as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. 

For a moment she let her mind wander. Then she realized that a moment had become a minute and a minute had become embarrassingly longer. Her worn rolling suitcase, marking time, had completed a few circuits around the carousel. Snapping to, she moved forward and retrieved it.

She walked over to the Hertz counter and made quick work of renting a Chevy Impala. She entertained the thought of line item vetoing some provisions in the contract like they taught her in law school, but then she thought better of it. It was almost 9:45 PM and it was time to go home. 

*****

An hour and a half later she pulled up in front of her childhood home. She looked off down the street. Street lamps illuminated patches of the asphalt in the darkness. She imagined standing in the center of one of the glowing circles. She wondered if it would be any warmer in the yellow light. Quinn turned back to her house – her family’s house. There were a few cars parked in the driveway. She recognized her parents’ SUV.

Steeling herself for the short walk up the front path to the front door she took in a long breath and turned off the car. Grabbing her suitcase and purse she walked up to the front door. She hesitated as she considered knocking or ringing the doorbell. How do children come home when home is no longer their home? She tried to remember what she had done the first time.

She settled on tapping lightly on the red door as she pushed it open.

“Hello,” she tentatively called into the house. She paused in the front hall to peek into the living room. Empty.

“Hello,” she called a little louder as she placed her purse and suitcase down by the stairs.

Just then she heard quiet laughter coming from the kitchen. She followed the voices to the back of the house.

She was surprised at the scene she walked in on. There were wine bottles open on the kitchen counter; a platter of sandwiches rested in the center of the table.

“And then he turned around and walked…he walked right…he just turned right into it.” Her eyes landed on her mother as she tried to catch her breath. Her mother clutched at her stomach and tears slid from the corners of her eyes as she laughed that familiar belly laugh that revealed she had drank one too many glasses of Pinot. The room erupted in more laughter.

“He didn’t even see it coming!” Her mom finished with a flourish.

She remained in the doorway to the kitchen, wondering if laughter was appropriate at a time like this.

“Mom,” she quietly said as she walked into the kitchen.

Startled, the group at the kitchen table turned to look at her.

“Quinnie!” Her mother jumped up and rushed over to her, enveloping her in an all-consuming hug. “When did you get home?”

“Just now mom.” Her mother stepped back to look at her, as her sister Frannie walked over to give her a hug. Quinn awkwardly hugged her around her protruding pregnant belly.

“Do you want something to eat?” Her mom moved over to the kitchen counter and started to put a plate together.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Quinn turned to her sister. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d be here yet.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d come a day early and help mom with the preparations – keep her company,” Frannie said with a small nod. She turned back to the women sitting at the table. “Quinn you remember Mrs. Oliver, she works with mom.”

Quinn nodded as the woman gave her a sad smile. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Quinn nodded again and returned her sad smile, unsure of what to say in response. “And you know Mary-Lou and Linda,” Frannie continued.

"Right.” Quinn smiled at her neighbors. She had known these women for close to 12 years now. They had become her mom’s instant friends when they had moved to this house in middle school. They were always sharing neighborhood gossip and helping her mom with the famous Fabray holiday parties.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” they both said to her with sad smiles and hugs that lingered a beat too long. Their eyes searched her’s. Quinn wondered what they were looking for. She wondered if there was something wrong with her response. Luckily, her mom chose that moment to usher her to a chair and set a plate of food in front of her.

“Would you like some wine Quinnie? There’s red and white and I think there’s a blush downstairs.” Her mom poured her a glass of white without waiting for a response.

“Mom!” Frannie chastised. “You know she doesn’t drink. Want an ice tea Quinn?”

Quinn wished her sister wouldn’t be like this. One of Frannie’s worst qualities was never knowing how the things she said sounded to others. 

“Frannie, it’s fine. Just leave it. I’m fine.” Quinn turned to the other ladies at the table who had suddenly gotten quiet at Frannie’s remark.

Uncomfortable with the silence Quinn tried to break the tension, “I’m not an alcoholic or anything.”

That should do the trick.

It didn’t. The women took that as the cue to start cleaning up the spread on the table. That in turn left Quinn sitting alone with a mountain of food in front of her.

“Judy it’s getting late. I’m sure you and the girls need some sleep before tomorrow,” Mrs. Oliver said as she moved to put the mayonnaise and mustard back in the refrigerator.

Quinn stared down at her plate. Macaroni salad, casserole and a slice of a turkey sub. She fiddled with the toothpick holding the sandwich together. She played with the red cellophane that topped the toothpick like a jaunty little hat and she thought of purple hat lady.

“Quinn, eat.” Her mother nudged her shoulder as she passed on her way to put some crackers back in a cabinet.

“I’m not really hungry mom,” she mumbled.

“Fine. Don’t eat.” Her mother slammed the cabinet.

“Judy, why don’t you leave the dishes, and we can come back tomorrow and get them for you,” Linda offered. Good old Linda. Always so helpful. Always so diplomatic. Quinn couldn’t stand her.

"It’s fine Linda, I’ll get them,” Frannie offered.

“Do what you want,” Judy Fabray said coldly as she turned toward the hallway. “I’m just going to use the bathroom and then I’ll walk you out.”

When she was out of earshot Frannie looked at Quinn who had not stopped playing with the little toothpick spear in her sandwich. “Good job Quinn.”

“Frannie don’t,” Quinn countered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Frannie said.

“You’re the one who started it,” Quinn said quietly.

“Really Quinn? What did I start?” Frannie said with her hands on her hips.

"Frannie, why don’t you go sit down? You shouldn’t be on your feet,” Linda said as she tried to move Frannie toward the den.

Freaking Linda. So thoughtful. Quinn really couldn’t stand her at all.

“I’m fine Linda, thanks,” Frannie said as she moved toward Quinn.

“Stop being selfish for five minutes and think of mom,” Frannie spit out at her in a harsh whisper.

She wanted to say, “I am thinking of mom. But she should be thinking of me too.” She didn’t though. Instead she picked up the sandwich and took a bite. 

As she took her second bite Judy returned to the kitchen.

“Thanks for everything,” she said kindly to her friends. There was a chorus of “Anything for you Judy,” and “It’s nothing Judy,” in response.

“What time do you want us over tomorrow?” Mary-Lou asked.

"Well let’s see,” Judy said, consulting the clock over the microwave. “The wake’s at four and the flowers will be there and set up when we get there. I have my dress and Frannie already said she’d drive, so I think we’re set.”

“Are you sure? It would be no trouble for me to pick you ladies up,” that bitch Linda said.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t,” Quinn mumbled under her breath.

Judy’s head snapped to her. “What was that?” she asked, although she had heard.

“Nothing, I just said I could drive,” Quinn covered. 

"Okay, so Quinn will drive tomorrow. Thank you though Linda,” Judy said with a smile aimed at her friend.

Quinn returned her attention to her plate. She pierced a piece of macaroni salad with her fork and thoughtfully chewed it as her mother and Frannie walked the ladies to the front door and said their goodbyes.

*****

Ten minutes later Quinn stood in her childhood bedroom. She had abandoned her plate of condolences and well-wishes in favor of unpacking for the week.

She set her suitcase on her bed and thought about putting her clothes into the white dresser that stood watch in the far corner.

“It’s only a week,” she sighed, moving the suitcase to the floor and flopping unceremoniously onto the bed.

She looked around her room – her childhood room. She didn’t want to forget that she no longer had any ties to this place. Her eyes glided around the space taking in the empty bookshelf, the bare nightstand and the vacant closet. She took in a deep breath as she reminded herself that this place was no longer “home.” Her life was in Boston. Her life and friends and home were in Boston. It was comforting to repeat this, a lullaby to sing her to sleep.

After a moment she heard the sound of muffled voices from across the hall. She turned her head toward the sound and could make out the faint chatter of her mother and Frannie in Frannie’s old room.

Sighing, she picked herself up off of the bed and made her way across the hall. She paused in the doorway to see the two women, blonde heads bowed over what looked to be a photo album.

“This was on our honeymoon,” her mother said, pointing to a picture in the album.

"Oh my God! Look at those jeans,” Frannie shrieked.

“Keep in mind that was the style back then,” her mother explained as she flipped the page.

Frannie’s hand moved to stop her mother from turning another page.

“Wow mom you look like Quinn in this picture,” she laughed. “Or Quinn looks like you.”

“Let me see,” Quinn said, starting the two women on the bed.

“Here, push over Frannie,” Judy instructed.

Quinn looked at the photo in question. A smiling Russell and Judy Fabray standing at an overlook by the Grand Canyon while on their honeymoon. Her mom’s face is tilted toward Russell’s as she squints into the sun. A look of amusement – almost mirth – plays across her face as her hand moves to fix the strands of golden hair that were blown into her face. Russell’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he beams at the camera. They look happy. They look so happy.

“You look so happy,” Frannie commented. “What was he saying to you?”

“I can’t remember. It must have been good though. Your father was always joking and making people laugh,” Judy said as she traced a finger around the edge of the photo. “Quinnie, I was your age when this was taken. Don’t you think we look alike?” Judy asked turning to Quinn.

“Not really,” Quinn started.

“Don’t you think? In the eyes?” her mom pressed.

“No mom, in the mouth and in the posture. You both move your hands like that,” Frannie said, leaning forward to get a better look at Quinn. “Yeah, but it’s definitely in the smile,” she concluded.

“I still don’t see it,” Quinn said shaking her head slightly.

She squinted at the photo, thinking if she screwed up her eyes enough and the image blurred enough she could see what they were talking about. It was like those Magic Eye books. She never saw the hidden picture, and she most certainly didn’t see a resemblance. They looked so happy standing at the edge of the giant canyon and truthfully she couldn’t remember ever feeling that kind of happiness.

Turning back to her mom and sister she said, “You’re right. In the mouth. For sure.”

That seemed to appease the two.

“Why are you looking at these?” Quinn asked, gesturing to a pile of old photo albums.

“We had to find one for Dad’s obituary and for the prayer card for the funeral,” Frannie explained.

“Here, this one went in the paper,” Frannie handed Quinn a photo of Russell Fabray from when he and Judy went on a cruise a few years earlier.

“Nice,” Quinn responded as Judy took the picture from her.

“Frannie is going to put together a photo board for the wake. Maybe you can help her tomorrow morning,” Judy said, still looking at the photo. “Wasn’t he so handsome,” her mother asked, more to the photo than to either of her daughters.

Frannie moved an arm to her mother’s shoulder as Quinn sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

“Yes he was. All my friends always called him ‘hot Dad,’” Frannie laughed with tears in her eyes.

“I just can’t believe…” Judy said quietly.

“I know,” Frannie comforted.

Quinn looked down awkwardly at her hands clasped in her lap.

“He was so proud of you girls. His teacher and his lawyer. That’s what he always said,” Judy smiled at them. “He was so proud of you,” she said as she tucked some of Frannie’s hair behind her ear.

"I’m not a lawyer,” Quinn said still not looking at her mom or her sister.

“You will be though,” Judy corrected as she repeated the same gesture of tucking hair behind Quinn’s ear. “Dad was so proud. He’d tell everyone at work how his daughter was at the top of her class at law school,” Judy continued.

Quinn felt tears prickling the back of her eyes. She blinked them away. There was no way she would let Russell Fabray get the benefit of her tears.

“I think I’m going to go to sleep now. I have to go shopping for something to wear for tomorrow and Wednesday, okay?” Quinn said as she moved toward the door. 

“Oh look at this one! Was this at Aunt Joyce’s wedding?” Frannie said flipping to another page in the album. “Oh my God! Look at you in that hat,” Frannie said pointing to a new photo.

“Mom?” Quinn asked.

"That was the style for bridesmaids,” Judy laughed.

“Mom,” Quinn said a little louder.

“What?” Judy asked a little exasperated.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said.

“Yes,” Judy said.

“I have to get something to wear for tomorrow,” Quinn explained again.

“Okay,” Judy responded. “We’ll go get something in the morning.”

“Okay, cool. And mom, I’m sorry,” Quinn said.

Judy looked up from the album at that.

“I know sweetie. I’m sorry too,” she smiled sadly at her daughter.

Quinn knew what she was sorry for. Her mom had lost the man she had been married to for 32 tumultuous years. Quinn was sorry that her mom had wasted over 32 years on a man who did nothing to deserve her love and devotion.

But, she was lost as to what her mom was sorry for. A man who Quinn had been acquainted with for 26 years had died. She was not sure how a non-relationship warranted an “I’m sorry” from anyone. She wondered if her mom was sorry that she had made her daughters suffer through a life with Russell Fabray. She decided that was probably not the case though.

Judy stared at Quinn as she stood silently in the doorframe. Quinn felt uncomfortable under her gaze. She hoped her mom couldn’t read minds, but she had come to learn that moms usually could – even if they later choose to ignore what they discover.  

Quinn turned to leave the room. “Goodnight,” she said without turning back.

“’Night Quinnie,” her mom and sister shouted after her before turning back to the fashions at Aunt Joyce’s wedding.

*****

Quinn climbed into bed after changing into her pajamas. She kept the small lamp on the nightstand turned on. She studied the walls of the room where she had spent many hours. They were bare. She had removed all vestiges of her youth after she graduated from Yale almost four years ago.

She closed her eyes. Four years. Had it really been that long ago? Four years since she was at least a little hopeful and excited about entering the real world and changing the world and coming into her own and making her dreams come true.

Four years ago she was ending one chapter of her life – happily. Four years ago she held out hope that there was plenty of time to figure herself out, to figure her life out. Four years – it felt like forever and no time at all.

Four years ago Russell was alive. Hell, last week Russell was alive. And now he wasn’t. And now she wasn’t hopeful and she still hadn’t figured herself out.

“What a bust huh Russell?” She said out loud to the dark. She chuckled to herself, opening her eyes to once again study the room that had once been a sanctuary and now felt like a prison.

Her eyes landed on the bulletin board above her desk. She squinted in the dim light to make out the odds and ends tacked to the cork. On impulse she threw the covers off and made her way to the board. Leaning on the desk she looked at the movie ticket stubs (apparently she had seen “The Help” in 2011. “Wow, that was before senior year,” she thought.), the key chains from Disney World (Cinderella was always her thing) and the backstage passes from Glee Club Nationals. Behind these she found a photo stuck into the frame of the board. She plucked it from its place and was surprised to see it was a picture taken after Glee Club won Nationals her senior year of high school.

She had forgotten all about this photo. It was taken in the lobby after they had been awarded the first place trophy. She remembered Mike Chang’s mother had a really nice camera and wanted to take a good shot of them. They had clumped together and put on the brightest smiles, still giddy from the win. She looked at the smiling faces of her former teammates and found her younger self, smiling on the right side of the picture, tucked safely in between Santana and Brittany.

She wondered what happened to these people who had once been some of her closest friends. The only ones she kept in touch with were Santana and Brittany, and even then it was only a periodic checking in and catching up. She looked at Tina and Kurt and Puck and Mercedes and Blaine and Rachel and Finn and Sam and she wondered what happened to them. She hoped they were all happier than her.

She turned her attention back to her smiling face, scrunched up in delight as Santana and Brittany hugged her from both sides.

“You look so happy,” she said in disbelief to her younger self. “What the hell happened to you?” She asked shaking her head.

She put the photo down in the center of her empty desk. She stared at it as she centered it on the flat surface. Leaning over the desk she scrutinized it until the regret and bitterness she felt overwhelmed her. The room was stifling and the walls were too close. Turning around she moved toward her shoes and quickly put them on.

Throwing open her closet door she found an old Cheerios hoodie on the shelf. She quickly tugged it on and then quietly made her way downstairs. The lights in her sister and mother’s rooms were turned off so she figured they were asleep and wouldn’t miss her.

She sneaked out the front door and started walking down the street. The night air was cold and quiet and in the coolness of the night her footsteps seemed to echo like a friend following along behind her. Quinn imagined she was the only one still awake on this still night. She walked to the first pool of light cast by a lone streetlight. She stepped into it.

Nothing. No warmth. No relief. No comfort.

So she moved on to the next one. And the next one after that. She did this for 30 minutes with no success in finding the warmth. She had succeeded in walking to the local elementary school though.

Walking to the back of the school she made her way to the slide on the playground. As a little girl she always imagined slides as giant tongues protruding from the head of a giant, trying to grab the children and gobble them up. She lay down on the slide staring up at the night sky. She put up her hood and snuggled into her sweatshirt against the cold.

She imagined she was in a cocoon. She remembered studying the life cycle of a butterfly in second grade. She remembered watching the caterpillar become a cocoon. She remembered waiting for the butterfly. Her 8-year-old self had imagined it was like a magician’s reveal. There was nothing in his hand and then suddenly he produced a bouquet of flowers. It would be magic and nothing would ever be the same.

She had wanted so badly to be the butterfly. And she had become the butterfly. She had watched herself become the butterfly. Lucy became Quinn, but now she was the cocoon again.

The problem was she had forgotten the let down of the butterfly. In elementary school she had arrived at school one morning and the caterpillar’s cocoon had been shed and where the caterpillar had once been there was now a bright yellow butterfly. She couldn’t contain her excitement for the butterfly. Things would be different now. She was sure of it.

Later her teacher, Mrs. Lyons, had explained to her class that they had to let the butterfly go free. She was positive that this was the moment she had waited for. This was going to be the big reveal. The class assembled outside as Mrs. Lyons carefully opened the butterfly’s enclosure. She held her breath and waited, standing on tippy toes to see over her classmates’ heads. She watched as the butterfly flapped her wings and took flight. She couldn’t contain her tears as she watched the butterfly float off across the school lawn. That was it. Just this bright yellow spot drifting through the air.  

Upon seeing her tears Mrs. Lyons pulled her aside and told her not to cry. “Butterflies are meant to fly and be free,” Mrs. Lyons had cooed as she hugged her close.

“But nothing happened. She’s just gone now,” she blurted out through a mess of sobs.

She remembers Mrs. Lyons’ confused expression. “Of course something happened Lucy. The caterpillar turned into a butterfly,” she tried to explain.

“No, nothing happened,” she insisted.

Mrs. Lyons didn’t understand. She tried and Quinn had been grateful for that. But she didn’t understand that there was no great reveal. The caterpillar had become the butterfly, but the butterfly hadn’t changed a Goddamned thing. Her class still went to lunch and then recess and then they had music with Mr. Monaco, but the butterfly hadn’t changed any of it.

She had forgotten about that when she was a little older and had transformed from mousy Lucy to swan-like Quinn. She had forgotten that nothing would happen. And she was paying the price now at 26-years-old.

She sighed and watched as her breath disappeared into the night. She took a deep breath for what seemed like the hundredth time since she’d been back in Lima. She could smell the cold and the night and she could feel it seeping into her lungs, filling her up and weighing her down.

She thought about the picture from Glee Club that she found. She mentally went through each and every face. Her mind’s eye lingered on her own. She could only describe the look she remembered as unbridled mirth.

“Mirth,” she let the word roll off her tongue and into the air. She pushed up to a sitting position on the slide and proceeded to jump to her feet.

“Mirth!” she shouted to the heavens with cold hands raised over her head and her feet lifting her off the ground.

Quinn’s echo responded in kind with a distorted “Merrffth.” She understood the feeling of being muffled like that echo. She felt it every day for 26 years.

With tears escaping the corners of her eyes she let out a gut-wrenching wail to the moon. She thought of herself as a wolf. She imagined waking the man in the moon with that one. She imagined waking Russell wherever he was. Hell, she hoped. Most likely the Chamberlain Funeral Home, she admitted.

She wiped her eyes. Russell would not get the benefit of her tears.

With that thought she ran off into the night. She raced all the way back to the house until her lungs burned and her breaths came in spurts and her limbs felt light with the exertion.

She tip-toed through the darkened house and back to her bedroom. She closed the door, kicked off her shoes and put her sweatshirt back in the closet. It smelled like the fall. She paused at her desk as she made her way back to bed. Not giving herself time to question it she grabbed the Glee picture and climbed into bed wrapping the blankets around her to get some warmth back into her bones. She propped the photo up on the nightstand. She took one more look at the people in the picture.

“You look so happy,” she said before turning off the lamp and drifting off to sleep.

Only this time the comment wasn’t directed at an 18-year-old Quinn Fabray. This time it was directed at a smiling Rachel Berry wrapped in the arms of Finn Hudson. And it wasn’t bitter or resentful. Just sad. And maybe a little bit regretful.         


	2. Chapter 2

_Tuesday’s child is full of grace._

Quinn woke to a steady stream of sunlight piercing through the blinds in her room. For a moment she suffered that insanity inducing feeling of not knowing where she was. Taking in her surroundings she knew she wasn’t in her Boston apartment. She knew that because it wasn’t pitch black in the room.

She took note that the room was bathed in early morning sunlight and the slow realization crept in that she was in her childhood bedroom. She had forgotten that the windows in the room were east facing and that the blinds did an inadequate job of keeping out the light. She rolled over toward her nightstand and was met with the shining faces of her former Glee Club teammates. She groaned.

“Good morning to you too New Directions,” she said groggily rubbing her eyes.

She took pleasure in stretching her arms above her head, grasping the bars of the wrought iron headboard while her toes stretched to the foot of the bed.

And then she remembered. She remembered why she was home and why she felt physically and mentally drained even though she just woke up. She tried not to think of Russell, but she couldn’t help but think about him and the fact that she would be seeing him for the first time in months in just a few hours. 

She consulted the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was blank.

“Great,” she said as she leaned over the side of her bed to confirm that she had in fact not plugged it in the night before.

Getting up she made her way to her purse on her desk chair to retrieve her cell-phone. Dead battery.

“Of course,” she sighed.

Quinn turned toward her suitcase to locate her phone charger. She plugged it in to the nearest outlet and waited as her phone restarted. She had seven missed texts.

Two from Juli, one long-ass one from Katrina that took up four messages (no lie), and one from Kate. She smiled as she thought of her three friends. Her “law school friends.” That’s how she thought of them in her mind. As in, “You have high school friends, friends from undergrad and law school friends.” All in nice boxes, neatly labeled and stacked against the wall.

A more accurate description though would have been “friends.” When she really though about it she came to the realization that she didn’t really have high school friends anymore (besides Santana and Brittany), or friends from undergrad. She had done a pretty good job of keeping a safe distance between herself and them, which resulted in the inevitable silent end of many friendships. It was as if the friendship game was a race and Quinn was always keeping pace a few lengths ahead of everyone.

But now she had three “law school friends.” Three people who were all her own. Three people who didn’t know her well enough to know that she was subtly manipulating all of their interactions so that they never saw the real her and only saw the parts that she thought were good enough, or smart enough, or witty enough, or normal enough for them to know. Three people who she could tell half-truths to and pretend they were whole-truths, and they would be none the wiser.

“And see,” she thought scrolling through their texts, “that’s enough to make them care.”

It was a hollow victory in the end. She felt like a fraud, but the second she let herself actually feel the weight of that admission she knew it would be all over. So she locked that thought in the deepest recesses of her soul – in that space between her heart and lungs, because surely that was the source of that impalpable pain that made it difficult for her to laugh deeply when Katrina went on one of her drunken rants on girls’ night. She was positive that an x-ray of her chest would reveal her soul crushed between ribs and pulsing heart and gasping lungs, and tucked somewhere inside there she was sure there was a little box of her lies and half-truths. She was sure she could feel it sometimes and had developed a nervous habit of moving her hand to the center of her chest to see if she could feel it and shift it around to ease her discomfort. All of this struck her as crazy though since she knew there was no box. She knew the box was just a metaphor for what was wrong with her. She didn’t linger for long on the thought of “metaphors” though – it meant too much and nothing at all.

She tensed up as she noticed that her hand had once migrated to that place where the hidden box was (wasn’t). She quickly moved her hand back to her side. She checked the time on her phone. 11:23 AM. It was time to face the day.

*****

Quinn entered the kitchen to the sight of photo albums spread haphazardly across the kitchen table. A corkboard sat on an easel at the head of the table. It was kind of fitting. That use to be Russell’s place and now it was like a shrine to the man. Quinn rolled her eyes. He was dead but certainly not gone. She doubted he ever would be.

She walked over to the table to look through the patchwork of photos spread across its surface like a glossy tablecloth memorializing the man who had been her father. Scrutinizing the face of the man in the pictures Frannie had chosen Quinn realized she didn’t recognize him at all.

She couldn’t place the smile. She couldn’t recall the laughter. She had no frame of reference for the spirit captured in film. She briefly wondered if Photoshop was that good that it could transform the essence of a person so completely. She wondered if that’s what happened to Russell’s pictures.

Then an irrational fear overcame her.

“What if that’s how other people see him?” The thought horrified her.

She was startled away from that path of thinking by Judy.

“’Morning sweetheart,” she said as she breezed into the kitchen in a frenzy. “I’m glad you’re finally up. We have a lot to do today before the wake.”

Seeing that Quinn’s attention was focused on a 4” x 6” memory, she paused in her path to the living room and placed a kiss on the side of Quinn’s head. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Quinn replied putting down the photo of Russell holding a sleeping Frannie as a toddler.

Judy picked it up.

“This is one of my favorites. Make sure your sister puts this on the board,” Judy said.

“Sure,” Quinn said quietly.

“Do you want something to eat?” Judy asked carefully.

“No, I’ll just get some juice or something. Is there orange juice?” Quinn asked turning around to lean against the edge of the table.

“I think Frannie picked some up this morning – especially for you,” Judy said with a bright smile as Frannie breezed into the kitchen in a frenzy.

If there was one thing Judy and Frannie could do it was breeze in anywhere in a frenzy, Quinn mused. Quinn didn’t do breezing. She was a quiet storm on the ocean that sneaked to the shore. She was raging waters under the rolling tide of the sea. Her frenzy was building under the surface, subtly gaining strength until there was nothing left for her wrath to do but spill onto the shore. Her frenzy was destructive and deadly. Judy and Frannie’s frenzies were just tiring.

“Thank you sister,” Quinn said giving her sister a side-hug as she returned to her station at the table to finish her craft project.

“What am I being thanked for?” Frannie asked making a show of rearranging the photos. Quinn knew the underlying message was, “You moved these and now they’re out of order. You have made more work for me.”

“I only touched that one,” Quinn said pointing to the picture of Russell and Frannie. “You should put that on the board,” she added with a small smile to her mother. This seemed to satisfy both parties. “And I was just thanking you for the OJ.”

Frannie gave a small chuckle as she fiddled with the picture. She carefully pinned it to the board next to the picture of Judy and Russell on their honeymoon.

“You _should_ thank me,” Frannie said smiling. “I can’t stand the look of orange anything since I’ve been pregnant, but I know how much you love the stuff.”

Quinn gave Frannie an impish grin as she made her way to the fridge.

“I appreciate it,” Quinn said pouring herself a glass. She returned to the table to watch as Frannie systematically sorted through the photos and arranged them on the corkboard.

“That looks really good,” Quinn said.

And she meant it. Even if she had a hard time recognizing the happiness that was staring back at her.

“Oh my God!” Frannie exclaimed. “I forgot all about this one!”

Frannie held out a picture of Frannie, Russell and Quinn. Frannie and Quinn were decked out in the familiar red, white and black of the Cheerios uniform. Russell stood proudly between the girls. It was nighttime and they were on a football field under the lights.

“Quinn this was your first time cheering a McKinley game,” Judy reminisced.

  Quinn remembered that night. She had been a freshman. Frannie had been a senior. She had wanted so desperately to be like Frannie. Popular. Pretty. A Cheerio. Her freshman year of high school had set her up to achieve all of that – and the photo she was now looking at, that night, had been the first step.

“This one has to go up,” Judy said excitedly. She studied the board to find the perfect place to display the picture.

“Mom I don’t want this one up there,” Quinn said forcefully.

“But Quinnie it’s such a good one of you girls. And your Dad, look how happy he was,” Judy reasoned.

Quinn could see how happy he was in the picture. His arms were wrapped tightly around her and Frannie’s shoulders. No, the photo didn’t lie. He was happy. Frannie was happy. Hell, even she was happy. And who wouldn’t be? Two proud parents. One popular sister who was going to let you ride with her and some other seniors to get ice cream after the game. That is the stuff dreams and teenaged romantic comedies are made of. Quinn resented the fact that because of Russell she couldn’t even enjoy what seemed to be a genuine moment of happiness from her past.

“I don’t want it on there,” she repeated.

“But your Dad was always so proud of his two cheerleaders. Wouldn’t it be nice to do it for him?” Judy asked.

“I’m in charge of this and I say it’s going up,” Frannie said determinedly.

Quinn rolled her eyes.

“Quinn what’s the big deal?” Frannie asked.

Quinn was appalled by the question, but even more appalled that she didn’t have a good answer. Somehow she knew “I look too happy standing next to Russell” wasn’t going to fly with her mother and Judy.

“Fine.” Quinn let it go.

She finished her orange juice, watching as Judy and Frannie rejoiced at the inclusion of that shot. She knew her mom and Frannie too well. They wouldn’t let that damn photo go and then it would be the source of trouble for the rest of the week. To them everything would hinge on that one picture. To Quinn it was really too late for a picture to make any difference.

“I’m going to go shower,” she announced to the two women putting the finishing touches on a memorial to a ghost she never really knew. “When are we going to the mall?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We’re waiting on you,” Judy said.

Of course.

“Well then, I’ll be quick,” Quinn said running off toward the stairs.

*****

Two hours later Quinn, Judy and Frannie returned from the mall. Quinn pulled up to the front of the house to find that there were more cars added to the mix of her mom’s SUV and Frannie’s car.

Quinn shook her head. She could already feel her anxiety ratcheting up. She hated full houses and people who wanted to console and reminisce. She pushed the feeling away, deep down next to the little box in her chest – it was something she had practice at.

“Chris is here,” Frannie said as they walked up to the front door.

Quinn actually really liked Chris. He was Frannie’s husband of almost five years. He was 6’ 3” with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen and a beard that distracted from them. He was a kind, gentle soul with an infectious laugh that started from his toes and Quinn loved him like a brother. He in turn treated her like the sister he never had (he was the oldest of three boys). He was not at all what she had ever imagined for her sister – he was better.

Quinn took a deep breath at the threshold of the door. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, but she couldn’t be sure what she would face on the other side of the door. Best to prepare herself then. Yesterday she had been caught off guard because she was travel worn, but today she would be ready. She straightened up to her full height and snapped her mask into place.  

Inside there was a flurry of activity. Mrs. Oliver, Mary-Lou and freaking Linda were in the kitchen placing food in the refrigerator that they had made from scratch between last night and that moment.  

“Didn’t Mom tell them not to come over,” Quinn whispered to her sister.

Frannie quirked an eyebrow in response.

“It’s like they live for funerals,” Quinn whispered in disbelief to Frannie.

“What are we whispering about?” Chris laughed as he found the two of them in the hallway leading into the kitchen.

Frannie leaned in to give him a kiss. Quinn looked away awkwardly as he placed a gentle hand on her pregnant belly.

“You should go get ready. The three witches in there were flipping out that Quinn was keeping Mom from getting ready,” Chris said with a conspiratorial smile.

“Those bitches,” Quinn hissed.

“Just let it go.” Frannie tried to calm her down.

“They don’t even know me,” Quinn said.

“Don’t worry about it Quinn,” Chris said as he placed a soothing hand on her arm. They were just talking to complain about something.”

Quinn looked down to her feet at his words. She hated how she was the one they chose to complain about. They didn’t know her and that had always been an active choice on her part. Keep people at arm’s length and they would never have anything to say about you. It was backfiring now. She chalked it up to yet another of the many trials and tribulations of being home.     

“Why don’t you lovely ladies go get ready?” Chris said as he pushed them toward the stairs. “It’s after 3:00 already,” he said consulting his wristwatch.

Quinn made her way to the stairs. Chris grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

“Quinn, I didn’t get a chance to say it yet, but I’m so sorry about your father,” Chris whispered sincerely. His sincerity was always one of his best traits and it was making her carefully placed mask fracture in places. She could feel the fissures extending the length of her perfect veneer. She sealed the cracks with an impenetrable gaze and a practiced air of superiority hoping Chris wouldn’t notice.

“Thanks Chris. I’m fine.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her. But she wouldn’t give in. Sure her façade was being held together with tape, rubber bands and a few paper clips, but she wouldn’t break. She would not break. Maybe later when she was far away in Boston. But not now.

Chris nodded for a long time, studying her.

“Okay. Just…” Chris was choosing his words carefully. She knew she should reinforce her already weakened walls when he did this. “I’m not sorry for the same reason everyone else is sorry.” He looked up the stairs. “Frannie told me not to say anything, but, well,” he paused, “you’re my sister too. It had to be said.”

Quinn clenched her jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re–” she started.

“–Yes you do,” Chris said with a sad smile.

Just then Linda walked into the front foyer.

“Quinn! Why aren’t you dressed yet?” she harped.

Not taking his eyes from Quinn’s, Chris responded, “Sorry, I’m holding her up.”

Quinn ran up the stairs when he turned back to Linda.

*****

They were only three minutes late for Russell’s wake. Quinn thought that was pretty good all things considered. Judy and Frannie cried over it. And Linda thought it was the biggest fucking travesty since, “What was that tsunami? Remember, in that place in Asia? This is like that,” she explained with a sharp nod.

Sure Linda. Being three minutes late for a wake (where the person is already dead) is just like a natural disaster (where thousands of people died). If someone died because of this Quinn hoped it was Linda. When Quinn said as much Linda chastised her.

“It was a metaphor Quinn,” she said throwing a look at Judy that said, “Do you believe how naïve your daughter is?”

Quinn was not naïve and she knew that was not a metaphor. Metaphors were more than a throwaway line in mixed company. They were not hyperbole. Linda was not worthy of a metaphor. Russell was not worthy of a metaphor. Quinn stopped herself there. She would not think about who was worthy of one.  

Russell Fabray’s wake was the only event scheduled that day at the Chamberlain Funeral Home because Judy expected a large turnout.

“Your father was well-known and well-loved in the community,” she said matter-of-factly as Quinn drove them to the wake. “Just wait till you see how many people’s lives he touched.”

Quinn rolled her eyes at this. She wondered if her mom actually meant that or if she was trying to convince herself. By her thinking if he had been a shit father and husband but it had been in the pursuit of being a regular Good Samaritan then everything was still copacetic. Being a good Christian could erase all manners of sins.

Quinn let that thought ring in her ears as she walked into the room where the calling hours would be. The room was filled with floral arrangements. Baskets of carnations and huge arrangements of roses and lilies in the shape of crucifixes and hearts surrounded the open casket at the front of the room. There were so many flowers that the staff had apparently run out of room and had to resort to lining the walls with the remaining arrangements.

Quinn was overcome by the heady floral smell that had settled in the air. It was the smell that she associated with death and loss. She remembered it from her grandfather’s funeral. But the emotional component that accompanied her grandfather’s wake was missing on this occasion. That feeling of grief that made her throat feel tight and her eyes water was glaringly absent this time. Quinn smiled at that thought. Russell could have all the flowers and the people filing past his casket in a pantomime of sorrow, but he wouldn’t get her tears. She controlled that.

“Quinn! Did you sign the registry yet?” Frannie asked as she did a slow frenzied breeze into the room.

Quinn silently stared at her.

“Why would I do that?” she asked confusedly.

“Just go sign it. Mom wants us to do it,” Frannie said as she pulled Chris into the viewing room. Quinn could see her eyes well with tears as she saw Russell for the first time.

“Oh Chris. Look how peaceful he looks.” Quinn heard Frannie whisper this to Chris as she turned to find her mother at the front of the funeral home.

“Mom why do you want me to sign the registry? Are you worried you’ll forget that I was here?” Quinn joked to her mother.

“Quinn not now. Just sign the book,” Judy said to her as she made her way past Quinn and into the viewing room to join Frannie and Chris.

With a sigh Quinn picked up the pen and looked at the registry. Her mom’s name was first on the list, followed by Frannie’s loopy scrawl inscribing her and Chris’ names in the book. The three witches had already added their names.

Quinn hesitated as she considered what she would write. In a neat script she signed “Quinn Fabray.” She might as well leave Lucy out of it.

She turned around and prepared to join her mother and sister who were now consoling each other while they silently cried in front of the casket. She felt like a voyeur in that moment – intruding on a private family moment of shared grief. She felt like Jane Goodall. She was studying the grieving patters of adult human females. But like Jane Goodall she was not one of them; she was an outsider – the other.  

“You just going to stand there all day?” Chris asked.

Quinn realized he must have been standing there for a while the way he was casually leaning against a decorative pillar.

She didn’t answer him. She just stared straight ahead at Russell in his mahogany casket.

“Frannie said she got them to put ornamental fishing poles on the lid,” Chris said.

Quinn turned toward him and quirked an eyebrow at that. Chris laughed.

"That’d be like them putting pom-poms on my casket,” Quinn said shaking her head. “He hadn’t been fishing in like 10 years.”

“That’s Frannie for you.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said thoughtfully looking at her sister. “She only ever remembers the good times.”

***** 

An hour later and the Chamberlain Funeral Home was wall-to-wall people looking to pay their respects to Russell Fabray and family. Judy, Frannie, Chris and Quinn were at the head of the receiving line, with Russell’s mother, brother and sister following. Assorted cousins were spread throughout the room. Friends, family, acquaintances and complete strangers snaked their way through the room, past the photo board (which they studied as if Judy would be administering a quiz at the end of the day, oohing and ahing over how happy the family looked and how handsome Russell was), past Russell in his finest suit and favorite tie, ending up in front of the grieving widow and the mournful daughters.

Quinn realized early on that it was all a show. Who was the most upset? Who knew Russell the best? Who loved him most? It was a farce and she was center stage. She had on her costume (a black dress and black pumps), her hair was impeccable, her make-up flawless. With her mask snapped into place she was the picture of sorrowful daughter mourning the loss of a beloved parent. She was a conman taking the whole room for a ride and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone would find her out as she shook the 50th hand and said thank you to yet another variation of “Your father was my best friend, I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a good man.”

In her head she repeated, “Lies, lies, lies.” It was like a mantra. It was going to protect her from succumbing to the revisionist history that was happening before her eyes and making her mother and sister cry more and more with each passing visitor.

And speaking of revisionists – A very nice man that Russell had worked with for years was just recounting the tale of a business trip to Colorado where Russell somehow had managed to save a woman from choking with his “legendary” Heimlich skills. This was the first Quinn had ever heard of Russell having any emergency training. She knew it was yet another lie.

“Are these the famous Fabray girls?” he asked once he was finished with his story.

“Yes this is Frannie, my oldest and this is Quinn,” Judy said as she gestured between the two girls.

“Well you’re just as beautiful as your father said,” he said.

Quinn and Frannie smiled politely at the man. Just how they were taught. “Children are to be seen and not heard girls,” Russell had told them. “And make sure to smile too. No one likes a sourpuss on a pretty little girl.”

“And this is Frannie’s husband Chris,” Judy continued.

Chris shook the man’s hand.

“And where’s your husband Quinn?” the man said with a laugh.

Quinn put on her best look of superiority. It was a masterful combination of one perfectly arched eyebrow and an expression that translated to, “Do you really want to play that way complete stranger I just met?” It was the sign that the man was getting into dangerous territory and should turn back lest he be cut down by her venom. Frannie and Chris noticed the look right away and exchanged a subtle glance.

“I’m not married,” Quinn offered as a last show of benevolence. That would be the end of this conversation.

“How about a boyfriend?” the man pressed on. Clearly he was an idiot. Or fearless, because no one pushed when Quinn’s hackles went up like that. Most likely he was just an idiot.

Judy was oblivious to the whole exchange since a friend of Russell’s from college was next in line and she chose that moment to shift her attention to him.

Frannie jumped in, “Quinn’s too busy for a boyfriend. She’s finishing up law school right now.”

Frannie wore a satisfied look thinking she had adeptly avoided a touchy subject. Quinn shot her a grateful look.

“Well what about that tall good looking guy over there,” he said flailing a limb toward the back of the room. Now he was using a wake as a dating service. Classy.

“That’s our cousin’s boyfriend,” Frannie said.

“A pretty girl like you must have lots of guys lining up for you.” This guy was impervious to Quinn’s death-stare.

“Not a one actually,” Quinn narrowed her eyes at the man and tilted her head, daring him to continue pissing her off.

“Well, soon enough,” he said as he put a hand on her arm. That asshole was actually consoling her over her dead love life and her dead father. Unbelievable.

“I hope not,” she said simply.

Finally the man took the hint and walked on to annoy someone else in the Fabray family, but trouble continued. For every person that asked Frannie about her husband or her pregnancy or commented on how pretty the girls were, there was another moron that felt the need to inquire into Quinn’s relationship status. She realized that it was the curse of being the only single one among her sister and five cousins. She realized that it was also the curse of being a fraud, but it didn’t lessen the sting of feeling left out. It didn’t replace the loneliness that came from not having a hand to hold through all this.

*****

Around 5:30 PM Quinn was shocked to see faces she actually recognized. First Tina and Mike walked in, hand in hand. Almost right behind them were Finn and a tall blonde. Quinn’s heart rate spiked. She hadn’t seen these people in more than seven years and yet here they were. They were here for her.

“Quinn we’re so sorry,” Tina said as she gave Quinn a hug.

“Yeah Quinn. We’re so sorry,” Mike said leaning in for a hug.

“Thanks guys,” Quinn smiled at them. There was an awkward pause.

“So how have you been?” Quinn asked.

“Good. I’m teaching seventh grade English in Columbus and Mike opened a dance studio,” Tina said.

“Wow that’s great,” Quinn said. “And you’re still together I take it?” Quinn searched for something to say.

Mike smiled at Tina in the same way Quinn remembered him smiling at her in high school. She felt a pang of jealously but she pushed it away.

“Yes. We got married last summer actually,” Mike explained.

“Congratulations,” Quinn said with what felt like her first genuine smile that day.

“There are a lot of people here,” Tina said looking around. “We should get going. You’re going to be home through the end of the week for Thanksgiving though, right?” she asked.

“Yes. I leave Sunday,” Quinn answered.

“Good, we should meet up at some point. Catch up so we can hear about what you’re up to these days,” Mike finished Tina’s train of thought.

“Okay, sounds good.” Quinn doubted she would actually take them up on their offer.

“Hi Quinn.” The comforting presence of Mike and Tina was replaced by Finn and his tall blonde.

“Finn.” Quinn didn’t know what else to say to him. They had always had a rocky relationship. She left it to him to make the next move.

He picked up the conversation where she left it. “This is my wife Mary,” he said introducing the blonde by his side.

“Nice to meet you Mary.” Quinn shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you too Quinn. I’m so sorry about your father.” Mary’s sincerity was unexpected.

Quinn figured she was just another blonde bitch for Finn to have on his arm, but the second she opened her mouth the truth was apparent. Mary was nice. Kind even. Quinn felt ashamed for having judged her. She felt ashamed for letting the past with Finn color present impressions. Quinn stayed silent for too long mulling this over.

“How are you holding up?” Finn asked awkwardly.

Quinn looked between him and Mary. She had been doing fine. But now, with familiar faces emerging from the past while she was on display for everyone to see, she wasn’t too sure.

So she lied. “I’m fine.”

Frannie chose that moment to excuse herself from the line to use the restroom.

“Excuse me guys, I just have to go talk to my sister.” Quinn didn’t hesitate when she saw the opening. “It was nice to meet you Mary.” And it was. And maybe that was worse than not having a hand to hold. Maybe that was worse. Seeing that Finn and Mary and Mike and Tina were all so happy and she was still as miserable as ever.

When Quinn got to the bathroom her sister was nowhere in sight, but her bright blue flats were visible under the door of the stall. Quinn didn’t think bright blue was an appropriate color for mourning. Frannie thought that since blue was Russell’s favorite color it was imperative that she wear them.

Quinn leaned over the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked sullen. She looked tired. She tried to pinch some color into her cheeks. She tried to smile but somehow she thought it made her look even sadder. She heard the toilet flush so she turned around to wait.

Frannie emerged from the stall dabbing her eyes.

“Hey sister,” Quinn said quietly.

“Hey sister,” Frannie repeated.

Quinn turned on the water for her.

“How you doing?” Quinn asked.

Frannie shrugged.

“I’m just sad. I miss him, you know?” she said.

No. Quinn didn’t know. So she nodded instead.

"Plus standing there, I’m just really tired. And I swear my bladder is like the size of a pea,” Frannie rambled as she washed her hands.

Quinn got some paper towels ready for her.

“You would not believe what being pregnant does to a person,” Frannie said before she could catch herself.

She turned off the water and turned to Quinn.

"I’m sorry, that was–” Frannie started.

“–Don’t worry about it,” Quinn cut her off with a shake of her head.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Frannie tried to explain.

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn said slowly with a half smile. “Ancient history.”

Frannie pulled her in for a hug and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Quinn hummed in response.

“How are you doing?” Frannie asked as she pulled away.

“Other than having to suffer through impertinent questions about my love life?” Quinn joked to relieve the tension.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too,” Frannie laughed.

“It’s so awkward with all the cousins being coupled and then there’s me just standing there like an asshole. I wish I could just say ‘Fuck it,’” Quinn said.

“What and just blurt it out?” Frannie asked with a worried expression.

“No, well maybe. It’s just that everyone has someone out there. I’m kind of the odd man out.” Quinn could feel her eyes tearing up, so she looked away from her sister and fiddled with the potpourri on the counter.

“Quinn it’s not like it would change anything. Even if you said to that jerk before ‘The reason I don’t have a boyfriend is because I’m gay,’ you’d still be alone out there,” Frannie said quietly.

“Wow way to be insensitive Frannie,” Quinn said in surprise.

“What? I’m just saying you don’t have a…girlfriend,” Frannie whispered the last part the same way she usually whispered the punch line of offensive jokes. She kept her eyes on the door. The worry that someone would walk in on this particular conversation played across her face.

“And what’s more Quinn, this is not the time or the place for that,” Frannie finished in her teacher voice.

Quinn wanted to laugh. That was the same thing Frannie said five years ago when Quinn came out to their Mom. It had been three months before Frannie and Chris got married. Frannie had been concerned that the news that Quinn was gay would negatively impact her nuptials. “I thought you were going to wait for a better time,” Frannie had said to her after Judy had called her crying.

Quinn remained unconvinced that there would ever be a better time. This certainly wasn’t it.

“Whatever Frannie. You don’t get it. You have Chris and you get to be you all the time, and you’re not out there hiding in plain sight.” Quinn was emphatic.

“Don’t be so selfish Quinn.” This was always Frannie’s go-to move. “Today is not about you, it’s about Daddy, and celebrating his life.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Don’t even start with me about selfishness.” Quinn realized her volume was getting dangerously near what would be described as “inappropriate for a public place.” “And excuse me if I don’t feel like celebrating Russell’s life,” Quinn continued.

Frannie looked shocked.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about Frannie,” Quinn spit out at her. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“No I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frannie shouted at her exasperatedly.

And that was all Quinn needed. Before she knew it there was yelling and more brandishing of words like “selfish” and “secrets” and “lies.” And then as soon as it started it was stopped by the bathroom door being flung open.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Quinn’s eyes snapped to the door where Santana Lopez was standing with her hands on her hips.

“You two banshees realize everyone can hear you out there, right? It’s like one big echo in here.” Santana eyed the two girls. “Frannie your mom asked if you would get her a cup of tea.” Santana stepped into the bathroom as Frannie exited without a parting glance.

“Hey Q.”

“Does my Mom want me back in there?”

“No, you’re coming with me.” Santana grabbed her arm and pulled her out the back door of the funeral home and down a walkway to where there was a small garden. All the flowers were dead. It was cold and Quinn rubbed her arms to keep warm. She thought this was all strangely appropriate. Santana had materialized out of nowhere to whisk her away to the coldness where nothing could grow. It reminded her of “The Secret Garden” and she wondered if Santana was going to show her a key.  

The pair was silent as they walked around the small empty fountain at the center of the garden. 

“So what was that about back there?” Santana finally broke the silence.

“Just Frannie being Frannie,” Quinn muttered.

“Really? Because it sounded a lot like Quinn being Quinn.”

Quinn rolled her eyes.

“Yeah keep doing that. They’ll stay that way.” Santana broke into a grin. “Seriously though, what was that?”

“Nothing. Just once again being called out for all my faults,” Quinn said snidely.

"I see. Here.” Santana stopped and took off her jacket. “I can’t stand to see pretty girls shivering,” she winked. “And here. You’re two seconds away from blowing a gasket. Take a breath,” she said pulling a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

“You still smoke,” Quinn said accepting the offered cigarette.

“No. Are you stupid?” Santana said as she lit Quinn’s cigarette and then lit one for herself. “Cassie wouldn’t like it,” Santana said with another wink.

“You keep winking at me like that and Cassie really won’t like it,” Quinn blew out a plume of smoke and smiled at her friend.

“Well what Cassie doesn’t know, blah blah blah,” Santana said gesturing with her cigarette.

“BTW, Britt is sorry she can’t make it today. Her flight got delayed, but she said to tell you that she’s sending mental hugs and kisses to you from LA and she will see you tomorrow,” Santana repeated as if by rote.

They finished smoking in comfortable silence and Quinn started to feel better.

“Come on Q let’s get you back inside.” Santana pulled Quinn back toward the funeral home.

*****

Santana led Quinn in through the back of the viewing room.

“Why don’t you take a little break from being front of house,” Santana suggested.

She led Quinn around the outside of the room.

“Holy shit there are a lot of flowers in here,” Santana whispered back at Quinn, her eyes big.

She stopped in front of one small basket of flowers in patriotic colors. Santana gave Quinn a skeptical look. “Who sent these?”

Quinn looked at the card. “Let’s see. It says: ‘Q, I know these are red, white and blue, but don’t think U.S.A. Think Superman. Because Dads are suppose to be like Superman. Love, Sam. P.S. Sorry I couldn’t be there.’”

Quinn wanted to laugh and cry. Laugh because her father was far from Superman, although everyone at the wake would probably disagree with her and then share some obnoxious story about Russell to prove her wrong. She wanted to cry because even though Sam was so far off the mark, in his kind way he was so right.

“I haven’t talked to Sam in years,” Quinn said as she set the card back in the arrangement.

“Last I heard from the facebook, he’s in New York. He works for Marvel or some shit like that,” Santana laughed. “I know right? What a nerd.”

“No, it’s perfect.”

Quinn continued around the exterior of the room to an elaborate wreath of brightly colored orchids. It was beautiful. It stood out in the sea of carnations and roses. Quinn grabbed the card and read it.

“Wait, this is from Glee Club?” She turned toward Santana. “Who did this? This must have cost a fortune.”

Santana shrugged. “We took up a collection,” she said like it was nothing.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Mercedes took up a collection.”

“The orchids are perfect,” Quinn said. “Russell hated orchids. He always said they were ugly and lonely.” Quinn touched one of the delicate bright pink petals. “But I love them. They’re perfect.”

“Well, they’re for you. Not Russell,” Santana whispered as a couple came close to look at the flowers nearby. “And you have Rachel to thank for these. We were going to go with lilies or something and she was all Berry-like and said we had to get something that would lift the spirits and not remind everyone of death and God and religion.”

Quinn kept her eyes trained on the wreath. She didn’t want to admit that her head spun at this new development. She didn’t want to admit that the box in her chest grew a little more bulky with this news and the hope it created deep inside her. She didn’t want to admit that the orchids suddenly meant so much more to her.

*****

A little while and a teary eyed visit from Mr. Shuester, Ms. Pillsubury and two little daughters later and the wake was over.

Quinn drove her mother and Frannie and Chris home. Santana followed and joined them for dinner. The three witches were present, as was the extended family. The house was bursting at the seams but at least Quinn had an ally in Santana.

Judy kept repeating, “Did you see how many people came? He was really loved.”

Quinn wondered if Judy thought that repeating it would make it true. That somehow if she said it enough times it would work like an incantation and Quinn would magically feel that elusive emotion.

"Mom did we decide on the readings yet?” Frannie asked changing the subject. She had not spoken to Quinn since their powder room spat.

“Oh yeah honey thanks for reminding me.” Judy leaped to her feet. She grabbed a book from her purse. “So there are going to be two readings. Quinn you should come over here too,” Judy said flipping through the pages.

“There are going to be two readings. Then the Bishop is going to do the homily and I’m going to do the eulogy, which I need to finish tonight, and the music’s taken care of by the church,” Judy said.

“Why is the Bishop going to be there?” Quinn asked surprised.

“Well he was a friends of Dad’s. He was always volunteering at church. Bishop Carew moved around his schedule to be there just for Dad’s funeral,” Judy explained proudly to the whole room.

Quinn couldn’t believe it. Even the Bishop was taken in by the smoke and mirrors that concealed Russell Fabray’s true character. And his presence at Russell’s funeral would only make people believe the lie even more. What a joke. Quinn almost said as much, but Santana caught her eye from across the room. She shook her head just once.

“Right, not the time,” Quinn thought to herself.

“So which reading do you want me to do?” Quinn asked instead.

“I want to do the first reading,” Frannie said as she took the book from Judy.

“Fine. Mom do you want me to do the second reading?” Quinn turned to her mother.

"Do you want to?” Judy asked.

Honestly, no. Quinn couldn’t imagine getting up in front of a packed church and acting like she actually cared about the death of Russell Fabray. But it wasn’t the time to share these thoughts with the group. Santana had reminder her of that.

“Because I think your father would have wanted to have his girls participate in his funeral,” Judy said with finality. And Quinn agreed. Russell would want his girls involved so they could perpetuate the illusion of the perfect family.

The thought that Quinn was one of Russel’s girls though, that struck her as absurd and a cruel twist of words. She was nothing to him. But she realized that at least until tomorrow she would have to pretend or she would never last the week.

“I’ll do the second reading,” she relinquished. 

Frannie was still looking through the pages Judy had marked.

“I want to do this one from Lamentations,” Frannie decided. She handed the book off to Quinn.

Quinn flipped to the section where the readings from the New Testament were.

“I’d like it if you would read this one from Paul’s Second Letter,” Judy said pointing to a highlighted section. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

Quinn nodded as she glanced at the words but didn’t read them.

“That’s fine,” she said handing the book back to her mother. “Just keep a bookmark in it for me tomorrow.”

With that the doorbell rang. Seeing that no one was making a move toward the door, Quinn sighed and headed to the door. Pulling it open she was immediately wrapped up in a tight hug by a blur of a person.

“I’m so sorry I missed the wake Quinn,” Brittany said as she grabbed onto Quinn tightly. “My flight was delayed and then I had to wait for my mom to pick me up and then there was traffic and it was a mess,” she rambled.

“Hey Britt, let the Q go,” Santana said as she walked into the front foyer.

“Sorry,” Brittany said sheepishly. “I honestly don’t know what to say so I figured I’d just hug the crap out of you.” Brittany pulled her in for a smaller hug and whispered, “I know you don’t like to be touched but you need this.”

“Come on ladies why don’t we move this love fest upstairs,” Santana suggested. When she saw Quinn throw a glance toward the kitchen she added, “Trust me you won’t miss anything in there. They’re replaying the day, complete with impressions.”

With that the three girls climbed the stairs to Quinn’s bedroom.

“Wow! This is a time warp,” Brittany said as she walked into the room. She galloped across the room and hopped onto the bed.

Santana walked into the room and started her inspection. She walked over to the desk and paused to look at the bulletin board above it. “I can’t believe you still have this stuff,” she commented.

Brittany jumped up to join her. “Oh I remember this movie,” she said grabbing a ticket stub.

“Surprising,” Santana said, “seeing as we made out the entire time if I remember correctly.” The two laughed.

Quinn was amazed at how simple things were between the two. Their relationship had run its course almost seven years ago and yet there was no lingering awkwardness that created tension when it was recalled. She figured it had something to do with the fact that they had been best friends before they were girlfriends. She couldn’t be certain though. It could have just been that they would always need the other in their life. Soul mates, but not soul mates. She wondered if that was a thing.

“Hey creeper in the doorway,” Santana called, “come join the living.”

Quinn overlooked Santana’s choice of words. It was actually comforting that she would never try to comfort. It made Quinn feel like this was just another day and her friends were just here hanging out with her in her bedroom.

Quinn sat down on the edge of the bed and Brittany sat down next to her while Santana continued to scrutinize every inch of the room.

“So how was it?” Brittany asked quietly.

“It was fine. Really,” Quinn assured her.

“Really? You’re not just saying that to make me happy and hide away your real feelings so that no one gets upset?” Leave it to Brittany to be spot on.

Quinn tapped her finger to the end of her nose a couple times. “You know me too well Britt. But I really don’t know what I’m suppose to say.” Quinn could see out of the corner of her eye that Santana was carefully watching the conversation.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what it was like to see him?” Brittany asked carefully. “If you want,” she added as an afterthought.

Santana pulled out the desk chair and sat facing the two girls on the bed. She didn’t say anything.

Quinn took in a breath and held it. She let it out in a burst of air that sent her bangs flying.

“I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“I know! Why don’t we go for a walk!” Brittany jumped up. “Like in high school. Let’s go to the playground and then you can just walk and start talking and maybe then you’ll figure out what you should say, but it will just be like we’re walking,” Brittany said triumphantly.

Quinn turned to Santana who shrugged one shoulder.

“I’m game if you are,” Santana said getting to her feet and walking over to pull Quinn off the bed. Quinn quickly grabbed her Cheerios sweatshirt from the night before and headed out the door ahead of Santana and Brittany. She missed it when Santana looked at Brittany and gestured to the photo of New Directions at Nationals on her nightstand with a perplexed expression.            

*****

Once downstairs Quinn went to the kitchen to tell her mom that they were going for a walk. The kitchen was alive with laughter and voices competing to be heard. It looked more like a holiday party than a dinner the night before a funeral.

Quinn shouted to her mother, “Mom we’re just going to go for a walk.”

Mid-laugh, Judy responded, “Okay, just bundle up and take a flashlight,” Quinn rolled her eyes.

“It’s okay Mrs. Fabray, I’ve got one!” Brittany held up her keychain where sure enough she had a little flashlight.

“Oh girls, come here. Do you remember Sandy who taught you dance in high school?” The girls nodded at Judy’s question. Sandy had been their jazz teacher when they were 14 years old. She had been young and had taught them the types of dance moves they only ever saw on television. Quinn wondered what she had to do with anything.

“Look,” Judy said pointing to a place in the registry from the wake, “she came today.” The girls looked at where she had signed her name. “Wasn’t that nice of her?” Judy asked them. The three girls nodded as they continued to look through row after row of signatures in the book.

Quinn’s heart dropped when she saw it. It dropped and it stopped beating. Right below “Robert Evers and family,” and just above “Mrs. Annette Rossi.” If she blinked she would have missed it. Written in an all too familiar script was the name “Rachel Berry.” She half expected that name to be followed by a tiny star – that’s how she always pictured it. But there it was, simply scrawled.

Brittany saw the name too.

“Oh hey look, Rachel,” Brittany said as she pointed to the spot that Quinn’s eyes had not left. “You didn’t say that she was there,” Brittany said to Santana.

“I didn’t know she was there,” Santana said as she looked at Quinn out of the corner of her eye.

“Mom,” Quinn said.

There was no answer as Judy answered someone’s question about a tall man who had been standing in the back for almost two hours.

“His name is Bill. I think. One of the cousins from Michigan I think,” she responded.

Quinn tried again, “Mom.”

“What Quinnie?”

“You didn’t tell me Rachel was there,” she said as calmly as she could muster.

“Who?” Judy asked.

“Rachel Berry, from high school, you didn’t tell me she was there,” Quinn repeated. Judy made no sign of understanding. “Glee club?” Quinn added impatiently.

“Oh right!” Judy exclaimed while hitting her knee. “You know she looked familiar and I said to myself, ‘She’s Quinnie’s age,’ but I figured she was one of Frannie’s friends because she went and talked to Frannie for a while,” Judy said.

“Where was I when all this was going on?” Quinn asked. She was pleased that she only lost a little bit of her composure with that question.

“How should I know?” Judy said. And it made sense. How would she know?

“Frannie. When was Rachel there?” Quinn asked her sister.

“I don’t know. When I got back from the bathroom,” Frannie said daring Quinn to bring up their fight.

Quinn knew that she had to leave the conversation there. She couldn’t trust that her emotions wouldn’t betray her, or that Frannie wouldn’t get her in trouble for the fight, so she gave the registry back to her mother and turned around and walked out the front door. Santana and Brittany followed closely behind in silence.

They walked for five minutes. Nobody spoke. They just watched as their breath became vapor and then nothing. They walked in silence moving in and out of patches of light becoming invisible and then visible with each passing step.  

Brittany spoke first. “Man it’s cold.”

“This is nothing,” Santana said, “you should feel Chicago cold.”

Quinn added nothing as the two bickered back and forth on the benefits of Los Angeles weather versus Chicago weather. Quinn let her mind wander and wonder. She let the thoughts in her head swirl and blend and mix until she didn’t know where one rational thought started and the next irrational thought ended.

When they got to the elementary school playground Brittany ran off toward the tire swing.

“Come on Q! Let’s swing like we use to,” she shouted out to the night.

Quinn reluctantly joined her on the tire swing and Santana spun them around and then let them go. The dizzying circling of the swing was calming to Quinn’s rattled thoughts. She wondered if this was a way to spin her head back to normal so that things made sense, so she asked Santana to spin them again once the swing had stilled.

Brittany started a game of tag with Santana, and Quinn watched as the two ran laps around the play system. She listened to their laughs and shrieks of delight echo off the building and morph into shrieks of anguish and pain. She thought that if ghosts could make sounds, surely that is what they could sound like. She figured it was the sound of the ghosts coming to get her.

She leaned her head back as she sat on the tire swing. She let the metal chain dig into her hands as she leaned further and further back. She could see the stars and the moon above. And then all she could see was Santana and Brittany looking down at her.

She righted herself immediately.

“Whatcha doing Quinn?” Brittany asked with a laugh.

“Nothing, just looking at stars,” Quinn responded.

“Cool! Let’s go look at them from the slide like we use to,” Brittany said as she ran off toward the slides.

The three girls laid down on the big playground slide and stared up at the sky. They were huddled closely together for warmth.

“Q, can I ask you something?” Brittany asked tentatively.

“Sure. I might not answer.”

“Okay, well, how are you doing?” Brittany asked.

Quinn could feel Santana and Brittany on either side of her holding their breath. They were waiting for an answer and she could physically feel it. She tried holding her breath too, to see if it made a difference. It didn’t. It still felt like spiraling out of control. It felt like standing still in a storm, and waiting for it to hit. It was inevitable and silly and it didn’t make a bit of difference whether she answered or not. Anything she said or didn’t say would still be a lie. 

“I’m doing fine.”

“Okay. Then why did Santana say you were fighting with your sister at the wake?”

Quinn turned to Santana, “Thanks tattletale.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Santana said.

Quinn looked back up at the stars.

“We were fighting because I’m selfish and I don’t know how not to be,” Quinn said.

“Bullshit,” Santana said.

“I’m just tired,” Quinn started. “I…” Quinn stopped.

“Why are you tired?” Brittany jumped in.

“Shh,” Santana glanced in Brittany’s direction, as if to say “just let her talk.”

“I have nothing to say,” Quinn said with finality. “I’m just tired and upset and do you know my sister thinks I’m selfish because I said that I wish I could be out to everyone that came to the wake?”

Santana laughed loudly. “What a brat,” she said. “You’d think after five years of you being out and gay Fabray they would know what to say.”

“Did your mom say anything about not wanting you to be out to your extended family?” Brittany asked.

“No. But she never says anything. We don’t talk about it.” Quinn desperately needed to change the subject. She was not discussing this with them. “And then they don’t even tell me when my friends are there,” Quinn realized too late that this was the wrong change of subject.

“Why does that matter?” Santana questioned immediately.

“It doesn’t I guess.”

“Don’t give me that crap. It does mean something because you just said it,” Santana shot back.

“It just would have been nice is all,” Quinn said lamely.

“What would have been nice?” Brittany prodded gently.

"To see her.”

“To see Rachel.” Santana clarified. It was not lost on Quinn that Brittany shot Santana a warning look.

“Why did you want to see her?” Brittany asked almost in a whisper.

Quinn was silent. She couldn’t say what she wanted to say. She couldn’t say that this was the big fucking natural disaster Linda had been talking about. She couldn’t say it out loud. Not to her two oldest friends. Not even to herself really. So she said nothing.

“Just say it,” Santana said kindly.

Quinn remained silent.

“We get it, okay?” Santana said as gently as she could. “We just need you to say it so that it’s okay for us to talk about it.”

Quinn shook her head. “There’s nothing to say,” she said as she got up and began the walk back to her house.

Santana and Brittany followed. They didn’t say anything for a long time.

Once they were safely ensconced in the darkness Quinn felt herself relax. She focused on the sound their footsteps made and the glimmering of the stars in the sky. She knew she was standing on the edge of something. She knew that this conversation was a veritable Pandora’s Box that could launch her off the edge and that frightened her. So she started running. She ran toward her house and away from her friends.

Far behind her she could hear Brittany faintly call out behind her, “It’s okay Quinn, you don’t have to say it yet.”

They didn’t chase her.

So she just kept running.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wednesday’s child is full of woe._

Rhe morning of Russell Fabray’s funeral was bright and sunny. It could only be described as cheerful. Russell would have been pleased – a gift from God to his ever faithful servant. Who could argue with weather as the indicator of one’s virtuous heart?

Quinn woke with a start when her alarm sounded and the sound ricocheted through her almost empty bedroom. She stared at the ceiling. She tried to remember her dreams, but they eluded her. She thought she remembered something about high walls surrounding a playground. She thought she remembered something about a voice. As hard as she tried to grasp the tendrils of thought she could not piece together the ribbons of her dream that only moments before had composed her entire consciousness. They danced and twirled in the early morning light and failed to take on a recognizable shape so she left them to swirl into oblivion.   

Instead her mind was overcome with thoughts she couldn’t shake. Thoughts of Russell and her mother and Frannie, and Santana’s words, and mad dashes through the dark, and perfectly drawn lines in a book. She couldn’t settle on one thought so she let them all ramble and tangle. She closed her eyes and imagined she was travelling the roads of her mind. She walked down the street and observed where all of her thoughts were housed. She wondered if that would help her sort them out. She didn’t get to ponder that for long.

“Quinn! I hope you’re awake,” her mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “The limo arrives in an hour so get a move on!”

Quinn groaned. She took her racing thoughts and got ready for Russell’s funeral.

*****

The limo drove Quinn, Judy, Frannie and Chris to the funeral home. Santana and her mother met them at the house so that Santana could drive Judy’s SUV so they would have a car later in the day.

They were the first ones to arrive at the funeral home. They sat in the front row of the viewing room and waited as people started to file in before the procession started. The room was filled with people. Quinn could not believe the number of people who had shown up for this part of the day. She figured most people would just go straight to the church.

For her there was a disconnect. Her mind could not grasp how many people were actually upset by Russell’s passing. She could not get her head around the fact that they would want to grieve for him while she herself felt nothing.

She turned around to take in all the people who were sitting quietly behind her. Row after row of mourners dressed in black. It was depressing as hell.

She locked eyes with Santana who was sitting with her mother and Brittany. Santana gave her a small wave. Quinn turned back around. She didn’t want to deal with Santana. She didn’t know what to say to her after the playground. She figured it wasn’t the time or place to think about that anyway.

The funeral director got the room’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen thank you for joining us this morning as we remember Russell Fabray. At this time I would like to ask everyone to come up and pay their last respects before we make our way to St. Rose Church.”

Quinn watched as the rows behind her cleared out and people lined up and waited to kneel at Russell’s casket and whisper final goodbyes to his corpse. Quinn wondered if he could hear what they were saying wherever he was. She hoped so. She crossed her fingers discretely in her lap.

Before long the room was empty except for Frannie, Chris, Quinn and Judy. Frannie held Chris’ hand as she stepped forward to say goodbye. Quinn watched as Frannie pinned the photo of Russell holding her as a toddler into the casket. She wondered if that was practical seeing as his eyes were closed now. She watched as Frannie tearfully said, “Goodbye Daddy. I love you.”

“We’ll go wait for you in the limo,” Chris said to Judy as he ushered a crying Frannie outside.

Judy caught Quinn off guard when she gently took her hand and walked with her to Russell. She thought her mother would want a moment alone with her dead husband. They knelt down and crossed themselves in unison. Quinn waited for her mother to say something.

She waited for a minute before her mother crossed herself again, dabbed her eyes with a tissue, stood up, put her hand on Russell’s and said, “Goodbye Russ.”

Quinn stayed kneeling. “I’ll wait for you outside,” Judy told her.

Quinn turned back to Russell. She stared at him. This was the first time she had seen him up close. The day before she had kept a safe distance – that was always best with Russell. This time she scooted closer so she was right next to his face. He looked exactly how she remembered him – only more pale and waxen. He looked like he was sleeping. He looked peaceful. She thought he shouldn’t.

Quinn took a ragged breath as she put her thoughts in order. Finally she spoke. She spoke in the barest whisper.

“Wherever you are I hope you’re listening to me,” she leaned a little closer. “You never deserved them – either of them.” She took a deep breath and then quietly added, “I hate you so much. Good riddance Russell.”

She stood up and crossed toward the doorway. Halfway there she paused and turned back to him. “And for the record Russell? I’m gay. I know Mom never told you. I hope this ruins your afterlife.”

With that she left him in his casket. No backward glance. She would have no regrets about today – she would make sure of it.

*****

The funeral procession progressed slowly through Lima. The hearse led the way followed by the limousine. A line of cars trailed behind. The bright November sun lit the path to the church. It was the picture of a somber funeral, the dark vehicles standing out against the sun’s white-washing effect. The procession finally arrived at St. Rose Church.

Quinn watched as the casket was unloaded from the hearse and the pallbearers took their places to carry it into the church. She exited the limo with her family and stood in a half circle with them as the casket was lifted up the stairs of St. Rose and disappeared through the tall oak doors.           

She followed her mother and sister up the stairs of the church and into the front foyer of the old chapel. She was vaguely aware that this was her first time setting foot into a church in almost five years, although she didn’t know what that meant. She held her breath hoping that at the very least she wouldn’t burst into flames. Letting out a small breath of laughter she brought her hand to her mouth as her mother and Frannie threw sharp looks at her. Quinn only turned away.  

She looked to her right and saw that the statue of the church’s patron saint, St. Rose, was still in tact. She had always been intrigued by the story of the Peruvian beauty who had taken a vow of virginity and chopped off her hair to conceal her beauty and avoid marriage. Her hand instinctively went to her own hair, which she had kept cropped short since high school. Quinn had always found it fitting that St. Rose was the patron saint for the resolution of family quarrels.

Looking at the peaceful face of St. Rose Quinn could identify with her. She felt like most of high school had been a series of penances performed to delay the inevitable. She wondered if St. Rose had wanted to avoid marriage because she was gay. She thought it would make her story even more tragic.

She tucked the thought away as the line started to move forward. Bishop Carew was now leading them into the church. Inside Quinn could see that many people were already sitting in the pews. She could see Mercedes and her parents, Mr. Shue and family behind them. Finn and Mary next to them. She even saw Artie sitting to one side.  

The Bishop finished the first blessing. The smell of his burnt incense assaulted her nose and traveled to her eyes, making them water. She quickly blinked it away lest anyone think she was crying.

Quinn heard the organ hum to life, filling the church to the rafters with its warmth. The deep timbre of the chords rolled down the aisle of the church and reverberated in her head and then throughout her body to her bones, settling there. She could feel it pulsing in her heart like some kind of musical pacemaker. The line of mourners jolted forward as the Bishop led them forward like the macabre grand marshal of a parade.

A voice started to sing, “Here I am Lord, it is I Lord.”

Quinn remembered ribbons. She remembered high walls and a playground. She remembered perfectly drawn lines in a book. She remembered that voice.

Quinn’s head snapped to where the organ was located at the side of the altar. Quinn’s face flushed and her pulse quickened as the music filled all the space in her body, leaving no room for air or rational thought. A microphone stood next to the organ. She held her breath, worried that she had snapped, that the Bishop’s incense was a drug and now she was hallucinating that people from the past were here in her present. Behind the microphone was a ghost. She saw Rachel.

Quinn was pushed forward with the tide of people, the low hum of the organ a foreboding finger urging her closer. She moved forward as if on a conveyor belt, past rows of pews and closer to Rachel. She was filled with conflicted thoughts to run, to stand still, to look away, to stare openly. She was taken over by embarrassment and happiness and hate and overwhelming sadness. She appealed to Jesus on the cross in front of her to make it all go away, to make her go away, but she couldn’t fight the current and before she knew it she was sitting in the front row.

The Bishop began the service but Quinn couldn’t be made to listen. There was no room in her mind to think about Russell. All she could think was that somehow Rachel Berry was singing at Russell’s funeral. Somehow Rachel was there.  

Quinn stared straight ahead as the Bishop spoke and her thoughts ran circles making her dizzy and sick to her stomach. She wanted to cry. She wanted to escape. She could deal with a lot of things, but not this. Not this, like this, during this. Her eyes stayed trained on Jesus on the cross. If this was her Gethsemane she was sure she didn’t have the strength to make it through the night. If this was her Gethsemane she was sure the sweat that now sheathed her body would turn to blood and give her away.  

She stared straight ahead as Frannie got up and made her way to the lectern to do the first reading. She listened as Frannie read from Lamentations about faithfulness in the Lord. She thought focusing on her words would stop the pounding of her heart.

“The thought of my homeless poverty is wormwood and gall,” Frannie read, “remembering it over and over leaves my soul downcast within me.”

Suddenly Quinn couldn’t breathe. The words were too suggestive. They sounded too much like the ticking down of a timer on a microwave from the distant past. They were too familiar and reminded her of bags and babies and beds that weren’t her own. They sounded like lies. And then she was sure this was Gethsemane and Russell was Judas leading her to her execution. Or was Frannie Judas? Maybe it was Judy? She couldn’t keep her thoughts straight.

Quinn looked at Judy who was focused on Russell’s casket. Judy _must_ have heard the lie in it too. Quinn was sure of it. She looked back to Frannie.

“Good is the Lord to one who waits for him, to the soul that seeks him; it is good to hope in silence for the saving help of the Lord. The Word of the Lord,” Frannie finished and the congregation responded. Quinn stayed silent.

Frannie returned to her seat. Quinn stared ahead at the giant crucifix. She thought about hoping in silence and the saving help of the Lord. She looked at Jesus nailed to the cross and thought, “Your father made you suffer too.” So Russell was God then. He’d like that.

She felt a slight nudge on her shoulder and realized that she had been having a silent conversation with Jesus for too long. It was her turn to go.

She stood up and walked out of the pew, rounding toward the altar. As she took the first step she locked eyes with Rachel for the first time. Her self-control was quickly waning and she couldn’t help herself. Quinn hesitated for the briefest second and then continued to the lectern, Rachel’s face playing on repeat behind her eyes. She could sense that everyone was staring at her as she turned to her reading. She could sense it, but she could only feel Rachel’s eyes on her. She cleared her throat.

"A reading from Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians,” she started. “For God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of Jesus Christ.”

She looked up at the sea of faces in front of her. All eyes were on her. It killed her that Russell had made them all believe the biggest lie. He made them believe that he was a good man. The proof of that truth was staring back at her with tissues and pious faces.

She looked back down at the reading and then back to her mother’s expectant face. She sighed. She realized that it probably sounded like a sigh of a daughter struggling to make it through a heartfelt reading at her father’s funeral. It was actually the weary sigh of a girl tired of all the lies.

She continued.

“But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.” She read ahead to the next part and hesitated when she saw the words.

“We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained…” She could still feel Rachel’s eyes on her and out of the corner of her eye she could see she was leaning forward in her chair waiting for Quinn to continue.

She cleared her throat again, “perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned…” Quinn looked up to see matching looks of worry on Santana and Brittany’s faces. She slowly let her gaze take in all the mourners filling the pews. She saw a woman in a hat and thought of purple hat lady and how funny it would be if she were here now. This thought and the words she was speaking made the box in her chest shift uncomfortably.

Her hand awkwardly moved to push the box back down in her chest as she finished, “struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body. The Word of the Lord.”

She made her way back to her seat in a daze. The words “persecuted” and “abandoned” flashed through her mind setting off sirens. The sound was deafening. So much so that she could not hear a word of the Bishop’s homily.

The echoing strains of “Be Not Afraid” briefly pulled Quinn away from her spinning thoughts. Quinn heard the words and she knew Rachel was singing to her. She knew Rachel was looking right at her and singing “Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come follow me and I will give you rest.” Quinn couldn’t bring herself to look at Rachel anymore though. The glance from before had been too much. Her heart was aching and her lungs couldn’t get enough air.

She hazily noticed that her mother was no longer sitting next to her and was instead up at the altar beginning Russell’s eulogy. 

“Good morning. For those of you who don’t know me I’m Judy Fabray, Russell’s wife.” She looked down at her notes. “Russell Fabray was a good man. He was a loving husband, an attentive father and the best friend a person could have.”

“Lies, lies, lies,” Quinn repeated over and over in her head.

“I was lucky to have been married to him for 32 years,” Judy continued. She spoke of his love of fishing (lie) and his generosity (lie) and the way he was always there for his family over the years (lie).

Quinn felt nails in her arm. She was reminded of Jesus on the cross and looked down thinking she had done it to herself. She saw that the hand didn’t belong to her, it belonged to Frannie.

“Shh,” Frannie desperately whispered to her as the church rang with the sound of laughter. Judy must have told a joke. Quinn shook Frannie’s hand away.

“And he loved a good Scotch,” Judy laughed.

“That’s the only thing he loved,” Quinn thought.

She turned to look out the stained glass window. The sun was now streaming through the window casting colorful beams of light into the darkness of the church. She looked at the shades of red and blue that fell on her arm. She tried to touch the flecks of color, but couldn’t. She turned back to her mother on the altar.

“Russell was so full of life. He was excited about living. He was especially excited about becoming a grandfather for the first time. I’m just sad that he’ll never get to meet his first grandchild.” Judy’s voice cracked.

Quinn’s heart broke. Russell had the chance to meet his “first grandchild” and he kicked her out. He was not to be pitied for this now when he had a chance almost a decade ago to meet his grandchild.

She turned her attention back to the colors that tattooed her skin and realized that the red that ran down her arm was her heart shattering and falling to the ground. She realized that no one else could see it. She could not listen to the rest of her mother’s speech. Her brain had run out of room for all the lies and revisionist history.

She could feel the room standing. She could see that the mourners were filing out of the church. She could feel Frannie’s hand on her wrist, pulling her toward the churning river of lies, but she held fast.

The organ whirred to life once more and Quinn could feel the sound of its heavy breaths pushing her further and further away from the crowd. She decided it was as good a time as any to disappear. She would not be missed. Who misses the truth when the lies are so comforting?

So she turned away from Russell and grief and her mother and ran down the aisle toward the side exit. She thought she saw a flash of brunette hair behind her, but she kept running until she reached the doors of the church. She threw them open and pushed out to the fresh air and the blue November sky outside. She ran away from the church and across the street where she stopped. It was cold. Probably the coldest day so far and she had left her coat in the church, along with her purse and her ride. She could go back in and get them, or just stand there. She turned around and was met with a brown-haired girl with hazel eyes.

The name slipped out so easily.

“Lucy,” she breathed. That was her first thought when she saw the little girl. Her second thought was, “All the ghosts have come for me.” She had killed Lucy and now she was here to exact her revenge.

The ghost spoke.

“Who’s Lucy? Um, I’m Beth.”

“Of course you are,” Quinn whispered.

“My Mom told me to give these to you,” the little girl said, handing over Quinn’s coat and purse.

“Thank you,” Quinn said stiltedly. This was not how she had imagined talking to Beth for the first time after nine and a half years. Actually, the whole day was not what she had imagined.

“Do you remember me?” Beth asked shyly.

Quinn had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. Did she remember Beth? Did she remember the little girl that she had known briefly so long ago?

“Everyday,” she choked out.

“Okay, good,” Beth said, relieved. “Are you sad about your Dad?” she asked innocently.

“It’s complicated,” Quinn hedged.

“Oh.” Beth shifted her weight. “When I’m sad me and my Mom usually talk,” Beth said.

“That’s smart.” Quinn followed Beth’s gaze as she turned around. Shelby Corcoran was standing at the side door to the church watching her daughter talk to her birth mother.

Quinn sighed. “You should probably go back inside.”

“Okay. Are you coming back?” Beth asked.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Of course you can silly,” Beth said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Sure you can.” Beth was insistent.

“I don’t think I want to,” Quinn blurted out a little more harshly than she wanted.

“Oh,” Beth said studying her face. “Am I going to look like you?” she asked.

“You already do,” Quinn sighed, thinking of Lucy. “You’re beautiful.”

Beth smiled brightly at Quinn.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes. You should go back to your Mom now,” Quinn said pointing toward where Shelby was standing.

“Okay,” Beth said as she started to skip off. “Will I see you again?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Quinn said honestly. “But I hope so,” she added.

Beth smiled widely at her showing off a missing front tooth. She ran back across the street as Shelby watched for cars.

Shelby looked at Quinn. Quinn gave a small wave. Shelby returned the gesture and turned back toward the church with Beth skipping along next to her.

Quinn started walking.

*****

Quinn walked for close to 40 minutes. She estimated that she had walked over two miles. She was pretty impressed with that since she was still wearing her heels and it was windy and she was shivering even with her collar pulled up against the cold. She cut a random path through Lima, not bothering with street signs or thoughts of a destination.

She figured Russell was in the ground by now. She harbored no illusions that the funeral had stopped because she was missing. Funerals cost money, and wasted time was wasted money. Quinn was sure she had been forgotten by now. Her absence would be a source of conjecture later. The funeral goers would come up with theories as to why she was missing later at the reception (“She was so sad, she didn’t want to believe he was really gone,” they would say over drinks from the open bar.) It would be yet another lie they told themselves. It would be a mysterious pit stop to distract from their overwrought displays of grief.

By this time Quinn’s feet were numb in her black pumps. Her nose was running and her eyes stung with the cold wind that came in bursts. Her fingers tingled with the cold so she stuck them deep in her coat pockets. 

Looking at her surroundings Quinn realized she had inadvertently ended up at one of Lima’s parks. She walked toward a bench that looked out over a pond. In the center of the pond was a giant iron sculpture of a Great Blue Heron. It looked like some kind of prehistoric monster come to wreak havoc on the fish in the pond. The wind sent ripples across the water and she could imagine the fish swimming for their lives, trying to outrun (outswim?) the giant bird. She wondered if there were even Great Blue Herons in Ohio. She would have to ask someone about that later. Maybe there was a park ranger around who was knowledgeable on the subject.

“Quinn!”

She heard her name. She thought the giant bird sculpture had come to life. She stared at him and waited for him to speak.

“Quinn!”

She heard it again, but this time realized it was coming from behind her. She turned and saw a car she didn’t recognize pulled up to the curb. She stood up and made her way toward it. The window on the passenger side was rolled down and she had to bend down to see the driver who was on the phone.

“Yeah I found her,” she said as she motioned for Quinn to get in. “Okay, okay. I’ll see what she wants to do. Okay, Santana,” she listened to the other end of the line. “Santana, I’ve got it. Don’t be such a bitch about it,” she said shortly. “Okay, bye,” she hung up.

“Hi Quinn,” she turned to her for the first time since Quinn got in the car.

“Hi Mercedes,” Quinn said.

“That was Santana,” she said. “She’s at the reception now,” she hesitated and then added, “Where do you want to go?”

Quinn turned and looked out the window. She didn’t know where she wanted to go.

Mercedes put the car in drive and pulled away from the pond.

“Should I take you home?” Mercedes asked tentatively after they were driving for a few minutes.

Quinn kept her eyes focused on the passing scenery as they drove back through Lima.

After a while more she broke the silence. “Where is everyone now?”

“They’re at Breadstix for the reception,” Mercedes said as she stopped at a traffic light. “Do you want to go there now?”

“So they already put him in the ground.” Quinn said without turning toward Mercedes.

Mercedes was visibly taken aback at the lack of emotion in Quinn’s words. The light turned green.

“I think so. Yes,” she said quietly.

Quinn sighed.

“Take me to Breadstix then.”    

*****

Ten minutes later Mercedes turned the car into the parking lot of Breadstix where the lunch reception was taking place.

Quinn unbuckled her seatbelt and moved to get out of the car. Mercedes put her hand on her arm.

“Wait Quinn,” she said suddenly. She hesitated.

Quinn looked at her, waiting to hear what she had to say.

Mercedes shook her head in annoyance.

“Quinn are you okay?” she finally asked.

“I’m fine,” Quinn said opening the car door. “Are you coming in?” she asked once she was outside the car.

“No, I have to get home and help my mom get ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“Oh. That’s tomorrow, huh?” Quinn had lost track of her days. “Well, thanks then – for the ride.” She closed the car door and watched the confusion on Mercedes’ face morph into concern. Quinn gave her her best smile thinking that would calm her concern. It was a miscalculation on her part, it also wasn’t her best smile. Mercedes rolled down the window on the passenger’s side.

“Listen, I’m gonna ask you one more time, are you okay? Do you think maybe you should just go home?” Mercedes asked carefully, trying to get a read on Quinn.

Quinn bent down and leaned into the car. She reached her hand across the seat and gently patted Mercedes’ hand.

“Thanks Mercedes. I’m fine. I should go inside and make an appearance.”

“Okay. But if you need anything just promise you’ll call me?” she asked.

Quinn smiled again. “Sure thing.”

Quinn watched as Mercedes pulled away. She turned to the entrance of the restaurant to find Santana and Brittany standing there. The looks on their faces matched the look she had just seen on Mercedes’ face.

Resigned, Quinn made her way toward her friends.

“Hi,” she said as she tried to use the momentum from her walk toward them to push her through the door. The two girls didn’t move.

“What was that?” Santana asked, trying to mask her concern with anger.

Quinn thought about playing dumb, but she was too tired to form the words. Instead she just returned Santana’s hard gaze.

“Where did you go?” Santana tried again. “Your mom and your sister were freaking out because they couldn’t find you and you missed the burial,” she continued.

“Don’t try to make me feel guilty,” Quinn said.

“Santana’s not trying to take you on a guilt trip,” Brittany offered. “Everyone was worried about you. You ran out of the church so fast.”

Quinn nodded. “I just couldn’t do it,” she said softly.

Brittany moved closer to her. Quinn thought she was going to try to hug her or touch her or something, so she folded her arms around herself, a makeshift shield against sympathy.

Santana was shaking her head. Quinn could see she was quickly losing her patience.

“You know what? Not good enough Quinn.” Santana said it with such finality that even Brittany started at her words.

“We have done nothing but try and try with you, and you make it so hard to be your friend,” Santana spit out.

"What’s that suppose to mean?” Quinn asked, not daring to look at Santana.

"It means that we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us,” Santana said gesturing between herself and Brittany. “You have to talk to someone! You don’t just miss your father being buried and then show up an hour later as if nothing happened!” Santana shouted.

“Okay calm down a little, she’s upset,” Brittany tried to diffuse the situation.

“No,” Santana rounded on Brittany. “That’s just it – we don’t even know if she’s upset! Because she won’t even talk to us!”

“You’re not helping,” Brittany whispered to Santana.

“Stop pushing us away,” Santana said, grabbing Quinn’s shoulders and forcing her to look up at her. “You can’t keep doing this. I have tried so hard to be there for you and you keep pushing me away. This is like high school all over again,” Santana let out a rueful laugh. “Even then you pushed us away. The only one you ever listened to was Rachel fucking Berry. Maybe I should have let her stay on the job,” Santana gave up.

That got Quinn’s attention.

“What?” she asked confusedly.

Santana leaned up against the exterior of Breadstix shaking her head.

“She was the first one to see you leave,” Santana said sadly.

“What? When?” Quinn’s confusion was growing.

“At the church,” Brittany supplied. “She saw you run out of there, I mean, everyone saw you run out of there, but Rachel almost went after you.”

“The organist had to grab her and make her sing,” Santana added with a genuine laugh. “She had Ms. Corcoran get your stuff for you,” Santana said gesturing to Quinn’s coat and purse. “Leave it to Berry to give the assist for someone else’s storm-out.”

Quinn thought of the flash of brunette hair she had seen when she left the church. She had assumed it was Beth. Now she knew it was Rachel, but as with so much in her life, she didn’t know what that meant. She thought she should find some paper and write down all the thoughts that were playing tricks on her. If she could just map them all out she could make sense of them at last. That was the solution to her problems, she was sure of it.

“Quinn?” Brittany asked waving a hand in front of her face. “Are you –”

“Everyone needs to stop asking me that!” Quinn pushed away from Santana and Brittany. She moved toward the door. “If I need help, or a shoulder to cry on, or advice or an intervention or whatever the hell you two have decided is wrong with me in your warped brains I’ll ask. Until then leave me the fuck alone!” She knew she was going overboard even as the words left her mouth, but she walked through the door anyway, leaving them in her wake.

“That’s the problem, she doesn’t ask us for help. Ever,” Brittany said. Her words were carried into the foyer of Breadstix, pushed into the warmth by an eavesdropping door.

“That’s so not true,” Quinn mumbled to herself as she walked toward the private room where the lunch was being held. She tried to calm herself down, but all she could think about were the alternate timelines where Rachel went after her. What would Rachel have said to her? She couldn’t let her mind play it out – it felt like drowning with land in sight, so she pushed it away, content to just tread water.

She stood at the entrance to the room and looked on as friends and family mingled and the soft din of conversation permeated the space. She could use a drink, but she didn’t drink anymore. So instead she just stood and watched, pretending she was drunk enough that her behavior wasn’t weird or remotely off-putting.  

"There you are! We were so worried about you,” Chris said to Quinn. He knew not to hug her so he gave her a playful punch on the shoulder instead.

“Oh, hi,” Quinn said, still surveying the room.

“Who are you looking for? Your mom and Frannie are over there,” he said pointing to the other side of the room.

Quinn shook her head. She wasn’t looking for them. She couldn’t really say who she was looking for, but she knew even that was a lie.

“I’m just looking for ghosts,” she said. That was closer to the truth.

Chris gave her a curious look as Frannie stalked up to them in all her pregnant glory.

“What were you thinking?” Frannie exclaimed as she turned Quinn around and moved her closer to the wall. “Mom is so mad at you,” she said.

“Frannie,” Chris chastised.

“I can’t believe you’re so selfish that you would do that to Mom…and Dad,” she added as an afterthought.

Quinn didn’t have time to respond because a new assault started behind her.

“You have some nerve young lady.”

Quinn turned to see Russell’s mother standing there. Mona was an imposing lady. She wasn’t all that tall, but she was so fierce even Santana Lopez would cower away from her. Quinn had forgotten what Russell’s eyes looked like, but when she saw her grandmother’s eyes she remembered.

“How could you put your poor mother through that? And don’t even get me started on what your poor father, God rest his soul, would say.”

That was one thing about Mona – she didn’t like anyone, but when it suited her it was always “poor her,” “poor him.”

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Mona asked, hands on hips. Frannie’s pose mirrored hers.

Quinn watched her mother watching them from across the room. Her face was drawn and her lips were pursed. She could read the displeasure on her face and at that moment she realized her mother still didn’t get it. Quinn took a steadying breath and nodded her understanding to her mother.

“Well?” Mona was still waiting for her to say something.

“Sorry Mona, I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Quinn said and turned back to leave.

Mona grabbed her arm. “I am so disappointed in you. I thought you had more respect for your mother and father than this.”

Quinn bit back a scathing reply. She let Mona say her piece, but she didn’t let her words pierce the armor she had carefully placed around her fragile heart.

"I thought you were done acting out after that…phase…in high school. You’ve let your family down young lady.” Mona let her arm go. She knew she had hit Quinn where it hurt, so there was nothing left for her to do but watch the fallout.

Quinn walked out of the room with Frannie hot on her trail.

“Where do you think you’re going now?” she barked.

“I’m going back to the house. Clearly my presence here is just pissing everyone off,” Quinn stopped and turned to Frannie. “Thanks for having my back, sis.”

With that she walked out of the building and out the driveway. She was halfway down the street when a car pulled up.

“Get in!” Chris shouted out the open window. Quinn complied.

They didn’t talk at all on the ride back to the house. Quinn let the conversations of the day play on a loop in her head. She figured if they echoed loud enough in her head they would all become true. That’s what happened with lies right? Say them enough times and they develop a weight you can’t shake? Quinn thought of the witch trials and death by pressing. She wouldn’t let the lies kill her though.

Chris pulled into the driveway.

 “She means well, you know?” he said simply. “She just wants everyone to get along but she doesn’t always see what that does to you.”

Quinn nodded.

“She’s learning though. I mean she didn’t let you walk all the way home,” he laughed. “She made me get the car.”

“How charitable of her,” Quinn said as she got out of the car.

Chris got out of the car and followed her to the front door. She fumbled in her purse looking for the key to the door.

“She’s trying. I mean try and see it from her perspective,” he said.

“All I do is see things from everyone else’s perspective. I drive myself crazy being objective about things!” Quinn exclaimed finally finding the key. “But still I’m the selfish bitch.”

“Quinn I didn’t say that!” Chris was losing his patience and Quinn could see it. “I’m just trying to help you. Dammit you Fabrays are all the same!”

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Quinn said finally getting the front door unlocked. She slammed it closed on Chris and ran up the stairs to her room. She slammed that door too just out of principle. 

She felt like the room was too small and her dress was too tight. It was like a vice or a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of her. Her hands flailed around the zipper at her back. She finally ripped the dress off over her head. She scrambled to her suitcase to try to find clothing that wasn’t a lie, but she couldn’t find anything that wasn’t trying to be something else. Everything she packed seemed like the wrong thing.

She flung open the closet door and could only find the Cheerios sweatshirt. She threw it across the room knocking the lamp off her nightstand. She stood up and knocked over the desk chair. She felt like punching the wall or throwing something through the window. Instead she kicked off her pumps and one smashed into the wall next to the door leaving a visible dent as it fell to the floor. That would do.

Quinn stood in the middle of the room in just her bra and underwear. She was so tired. Her lungs ached for air and her mind ached for rest. She wanted to silence the voices that called her a disappointment, that called her a liar, that called her a coward. She crumpled to the ground and leaned against her bed, breathing heavily. She nudged the fallen lamp with a toe before picking it up and replacing it on the nightstand. She knocked the glee club photo off in the process.

It landed face up on the floor next to her. She stared at the faces of the ghosts. They had chased her for so long and so far. They picked up where Russell left off. Feeling the anger stirring around her heart and her lungs and that place where she was sure her soul was housed, she snatched up the photo and tore it to pieces. She would love to see those ghosts try to chase her now.

She pulled a blanket over her and curled up on the floor next to the remains of the photograph. She curled up and fell soundly asleep while Rachel Berry kept watch next to her from a ragged and torn piece of the past. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Thursday’s child has far to go._

Quinn was pulled from the dark solitude of a dreamless sleep by the sound of her bedroom door being flung open and slamming against the wall. She was still on the floor, arms and legs tangled in the blanket like a mental patient in a straight jacket. Frannie stood in the doorway, blue eyes glaring at her. Her anger morphed into disbelief at the sight of Quinn on the floor, half naked, a prisoner in a shroud.

“What are you doing?” Frannie asked icily. “Mom needs our help in the kitchen. You better get it together today,” she warned.

“What a mess,” Quinn heard her mutter as she stormed off down the hall to the stairs. Her heavy steps resonated in Quinn’s head like war drums. Her back ached and her neck was stiff. Surely this was not the day for her to go to war. 

“Get it together,” Quinn repeated.

She wasn’t sure what that meant or if it was even in her power to do that. She had nothing left. Everything was shattered and broken around her. Her suitcase was an explosion of clothes stretching halfway across the room. The fallen form of her desk chair was motionless in the middle of the pile – a casualty of the melee. She thought of Humpty Dumpty and all the King’s horses and all the King’s men. She thought it was kind of absurd that the horses tried to put anything back together. She wondered who would put her back together, but she knew that couldn’t be done – wouldn’t be done.  

She looked to the floor next to her and saw the pieces of the photo spread out. It was like a tiny pile of ashes where an invisible pyre had once been. Maybe that’s what Frannie wanted her to “get together.”           

Slowly an unsettled feeling crept up from the depths of her stomach and wrapped its chilly arms around her shoulders. She sunk down under the weight of its touch. She couldn’t remember what had possessed her to rip up the photo. She kicked herself for her rash impulse. Her hands sifted through the remains as she tried to piece together the impossible puzzle. Giving up she gathered the pieces and walked them over to her desk.

She would try to find a way to fix it later, although she couldn’t figure out an earthly reason as to why that was important. But she would fix it when her head was finally clear and when the war drums weren’t keeping the beat of a quickly approaching enemy she couldn’t see.  

She sighed. There was nothing you could do when a ghostly army was gaining on you. All she could do was prepare for battle as best she could.

*****

After getting herself ready for the day Quinn went downstairs to help her mother and Frannie in the kitchen.

Her mother was slamming cabinets and moving pots and pans from the counter to the kitchen table. The kitchen looked almost as ravaged as Quinn’s bedroom. She wondered if a silent tornado had ripped through the home the night before. Almost as soon as she asked herself the question she realized she was the twister. She was the silent storm.

Her attention turned to the television where cheerful holiday music played, dissipating into the tense atmosphere. She realized it was the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade when she saw the green stage in front of Macy’s. And then she realized that meant it was Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving had always been Quinn’s favorite holiday for as long as she could remember. She appreciated the simplicity of a religion-free holiday. There was no stress of pleasing both her parents and God. But more than that she just loved the fall. She loved the slight chill in the air and the sound the rustling leaves made in the trees.

Thanksgiving was easy. The Fabray girls would dress up in the finest autumn colors. Adorned in brilliant red and copper sweaters Quinn and Frannie would help their mother with those culinary Thanksgiving duties left to the women, while Russell swilled Scotch and watched the game. Judy’s parents would visit from the next town over and the family would enjoy a beautiful meal after asking for God’s blessing for the precious bounty. Easy. No prying eyes, no audience to take in the performance. Just turkey and bright oranges and reds.  

But then Frannie and Chris got married and started visiting his family for the holiday instead, and then Judy’s father passed away. Thanksgiving slowly became just another meal.           

Quinn was startled from her thoughts when Judy slammed a pan down on the counter.

“Do you need my help?” Quinn asked quietly.

Judy stopped what she was doing and looked at her daughter.

“Oh so now you’re a part of this family,” Judy said coldly.

Quinn studied her shoes. She knew that when her mother got like this it was best not to provoke her.

“What are we doing for dinner today?” Quinn asked. In a whisper she added, “Do you need me for anything?”

“Dinner is taken care of. Maribel invited us over,” Judy said as she opened the freezer door. “I just need to find something to bring. I can’t show up empty-handed,” she said, more to herself than to Quinn.

“Oh,” Quinn said.

“What was that?” Judy closed the door halfway and looked Quinn in the eye for the first time that day.

“Nothing. I – Santana didn’t mention it yesterday – that we were invited for Thanksgiving,” Quinn explained.

"Well she probably couldn’t find you. She wasn’t the only one who had that problem,” Judy countered.

Quinn and Judy faced each other in a silent standoff. Quinn knew she would only make things worse if she said something, if she tried to defend herself, if she tried to explain why she had to leave the funeral. The silence hung thick in the air. It was broken by the sound of “I’ve Had The Time of My Life,” filtering from the television on the counter. She thought of high school and Sam Evans. She thought of the photo lying in pieces upstairs.

Frannie walked into the kitchen holding a bag of frozen green beans.

“I found these in the downstairs fridge,” she said. “We can probably make a casserole.”

Quinn quietly slipped out of the kitchen unnoticed. She snuck down the hall, past the den where Chris was watching television. She went outside and sat on the front step.

It was another bright day, not as breezy as the previous day though. She took a deep breath and filled her lungs. Somewhere someone had a fire going. She let the smell of the fire mix with the smell of decaying leaves. She had forgotten what Thanksgiving felt like, but feeling her rosy cheeks now and the autumn smells wrapped around her, she remembered. Thanksgiving felt like this. Or it was supposed to feel like this – like infinite warmth and coldness rolled into one. It was supposed to feel comfortable.

And then she remembered it hadn’t felt that way in years. She wondered if it ever had or if she had made the whole thing up.    

*****

They arrived at the Lopez house exactly at noon, green bean casserole in hand. Chris quickly introduced himself to Santana’s father and brother and joined them to watch the football game. Frannie and Judy followed Santana’s mother, Maribel, into the kitchen to help with the final preparations. Extended family milled about, passing easily between rooms. Quinn hovered awkwardly in the living room with Santana’s niece and nephew who were watching _Miracle on 34 th Street_ on television.

Quinn was eventually invited to sit on the floor with Santana’s 6-year-old niece, Anna. Anna was small for her age and a bundle of energy. She excitedly filled Quinn in on the plot of the movie while effectively keeping her 4-year-old brother, George, from giving his take on it.

“The big man is just pretending to be a fake Santa, but he’s really real Santa – he just needed a job so he could buy all the kids toys,” she said with authority.

“That’s right,” Santana said as she walked into the living room from the kitchen. “And who gets toys kiddo?” she asked as she leaned over and scooped up the little girl into a hug. Anna squealed in delight.

“Only the nice ones!” she exclaimed.

George launched himself at Santana, trying to find a spot in the hug.

“That’s right!” Santana confirmed.

Quinn had never seen Santana like this with children before. It was her understanding that she hated little kids, but to see her entertaining them – and doing a good job of it too – well it threw her off. She imagined that her girlfriend, Cassie, had something to do with this change. Cassie was kind and caring. She was a nurse. She must have been responsible for this. It was the only thing that made sense.  

“Why don’t you guys tell Quinn what she needs to do to get off the naughty list?” Santana said as she looked pointedly at Quinn.

Anna untangled herself from Santana and grabbed Quinn’s hand.

“Quinn you’re not on the naughty list, are you?” she asked earnestly.

Quinn glared at Santana who only raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge. She couldn’t understand why Santana was acting so put out by anything she had done – they had never been the type of friends who took the other to task for their shortcomings. More than that she couldn’t understand why she was torturing her now.

Quinn stood up and made her way to the dining room where appetizers and drinks were set up on the table.

She looked among the various bottles of soda and seltzer and wine and came across a bottle of rum. She grabbed the bottle and felt its weight in her hand. It was a solid something to hold onto. She knew she was slowly drowning, she knew it was no life raft and she knew it would pull her under, but she clung to it all the same. With a few quick motions she mixed herself a drink, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen her.

She did some quick math in her head. Seven years. It had been seven years since her last drink. She was not an alcoholic though. She didn’t even have a problem with alcohol. She just chose not to drink. But when you make an effort not to drink most people assume you’re in recovery. At least that was how it had been for her ever since she made the choice in college not to drink after she had a particularly bad experience with a bottle of tequila one night. She shook that memory from her mind. She couldn’t go there.  

 “Bottoms up,” she thought as she took a long gulp of rum and coke. She had forgotten how the mixture of alcohol and soda could sting. She felt it in the back of her throat and her nose and her eyes. Oh well, she probably deserved it. She finished off the glass and mixed herself another as Santana walked into the dining room.

“What are you doing?” Santana asked accusingly, knowing full well that Quinn didn’t drink anymore.

Quinn looked up at her. Santana’s arms were crossed and she dared Quinn to lie to her.

“Nothing,” Quinn responded, shortly. She pushed past her back into the living room.

“Even if you don’t want my help, you need to get it together Fabray,” Santana warned to her retreating form.

“Get it together,” Quinn repeated. She took a sip of her drink. Surely this would help with that.

That’s how she found herself three rum and cokes deep by the time dinner was served.

“Soup’s on!” Mrs. Lopez happily exclaimed.

Quinn was sitting on the floor nursing her latest drink. She was leaning against the couch and watching as a young Natalie Wood ran into the picture perfect home, praising Santa Claus for giving her exactly what she wanted. She felt bitter at the happy scene. She felt bitter at the happy ending. She wondered if anyone ever truly got what they wanted. Sure as a child she had been a little like Susan Walker, believing in the impossible. Now she was just Quinn Fabray, quickly losing a grip on her sobriety.

Anna grabbed her hand and tried pulling her to her feet.

“Come on Quinn! It’s turkey time,” she shouted.

Quinn finished her drink and stood up, watching as Anna danced into the other room singing a song about turkeys.

She was handed a glass of champagne as she made her way into the dining room.

“Quinn! You can sit next to me,” Anna said, excitedly jumping up and down.

Quinn gave her what she hoped was a kind smile and sat down next to the girl. In all truth her face was tingling from the alcohol and she could feel that she was flushed. She was sure her smile had been more of a grimace.  

Dr. Lopez stood up and began the toast.

“Here’s to a happy and healthy holiday season,” he said in his calm way. It was really a wonder that Santana was a product of his gentleness.

“So let’s share a toast between family and good friends,” he said, gesturing to Judy who smiled kindly in return. “Okay, let’s start with Anna this year,” he said.

Quinn turned to the girl next to her, curious as to what Dr. Lopez meant.

“This year I’m thankful for mommy and daddy and Georgie and all my dress-up clothes,” she said proudly.

And so they went around the table sharing thoughts of thanks and gratitude for family and health and new jobs and new houses and good friends. Quinn kept her head down as the words washed over her, not quite penetrating her consciousness. She couldn’t imagine having so much to be thankful for. She heard her mother say she was thankful for her loving family. She heard Frannie and Chris next to her say that they were thankful that they were expecting their first child and that they had each other. She couldn’t see herself in any of it.

Quinn raised her champagne glass to her lips and finished it in one shot.  

Dr. Lopez continued the toast. Quinn was relieved that she had been overlooked. Anna wouldn’t let that happen though.

“What about Quinn?” she exclaimed. “Quinn didn’t get to go!”

Before anyone could speak their objection to this Quinn raised her empty glass. Her mind had finally landed on the one thing she was thankful for.

“I’m thankful my bastard father is dead,” she said. She was pleased that she didn’t slur her words given that her head was swimming in alcohol and her tongue was heavy and awkward in her mouth.

The room went silent. No one spoke, no one even breathed. She could feel Chris stiffen next to her.

Quinn went to take a drink from her glass, but then realized it was empty. She reached for Chris’ full glass.

Dr. Lopez cleared his throat uncomfortably from the head of the table.

“Quinn I think you’ve had enough,” Judy said coldly.

Quinn snorted as she tried to grab Chris’ glass. He moved it out of her reach instead.

Santana pushed away from the table. “Okay Q, I think that’s enough,” she said as she walked around to Quinn and started pulling her chair out.

Chris stood up and tried to take Quinn’s arm to lead her away from the table.

“Come on Quinn, why don’t we go sit in the other room,” he whispered.

Quinn pushed them away.

“No, I’m fine where I am,” Quinn slurred. Her tongue rebelled against her mind.

“You’re fine?” Santana asked, incredulously.

“Yes, I’m juss gonna sit here an-and eat some turkey,” Quinn said shooing them away. “This all looks great Mrs. Lopez,” she said cheerfully. She looked at the shocked faces of the Lopez family and started laughing hysterically.

Anna looked at her. “What’s so funny?” she asked, thinking she had missed a joke.

Santana looked on in horror.

Quinn gasped for breath. “It’s just funny that _I’m_ the drunk one. Usually that was Russ’ job,” she howled.

“Quinn that’s enough,” Judy silenced the room. “I’m sorry,” she said to Maribel.

“Why are you apologizing to them? Shouldn’t you be apologizin’ to me?” Quinn asked.

Santana was at her side in an instant. Quinn wondered how she got there so quickly. Maybe she teleported. Quinn looked at the distance Santana had covered in the space of seconds and she realized it _must_ have been teleportation because no one walks that quickly and time doesn’t move that rapidly either.  

“That was so cool,” Quinn slurred.

“Okay Q, I think you’re done,” Santana said as she grabbed Quinn around the waist and pulled her toward the living room.

“No, no, wait, I jus’ have to say one more thing,” Quinn begged as she was dragged from the room. She wasn’t sure what that one thing was, but she knew given the chance she would think of something appropriate.

Judy stared straight ahead. “Santana could you take her home?” she asked.

“Once again Quinn gets pushed away!” Quinn exclaimed. “How come I can never say wha’ I mean? How come no one will lemme?” she asked as two sets of arms led her outside to the driveway.

“Come on Q, we’re gonna take you home,” Santana soothed as she got her into the backseat of a car.

And then the car was on the road and the scenery was flying by and her head was spinning and her thoughts were amplified and she finally noticed Chris in the front passenger’s seat and Santana was reassuring her that everything would be okay.

The car felt positively claustrophobic. She felt like she was hurtling through space and she worried that they would run out of oxygen. She couldn’t remember what had happened exactly, and she couldn’t remember where she was going. But then she saw a fence. A white picket fence and she knew where she was. She knew this street, and that was somewhat satisfying to her alcohol-addled brain. 

And the car was stopped and she was fumbling with an impossible seatbelt and a heavy door handle and she was outside the car and she was running through woods that were familiar to her even in her drunken haze. She could feel that someone was pursuing her. She could hear someone shouting her name, but she couldn’t tell who it was. She knew she had to get away though. It could be the ghosts chasing her, and she wasn’t ready to do battle. Not yet.

She ran until her legs were jelly and she felt sick from the exertion, and not sick from the alcohol. Or maybe it was both. It all felt the same when she stopped to think about it.

She collapsed on the pavement. She had lost who was following her. She stared up at the sky. She had to shade her eyes from its brightness. She could see the trees though and their warm colors filled her heart for the first time since she had returned to Lima. She saw the reds and oranges and browns and yellows. She had reached her destination.

She closed her eyes – just for a second. She felt the chill of the pavement at her back and she smelled the warmth of autumn. She didn’t worry about how much time had passed. She imagined she was a dead leaf that had fallen to the ground. She tried to sink into the ground, past the pavement and into the dirt. She thought the leaves liked that and she might like that too.

She felt the seconds tick by, but they must have been minutes or hours, because that’s how time flew when you were drunk. She thought about time flying and clocks soaring through the sky. She wondered if she mastered alcohol, could she master time too? Her mind was too drunk to fully explore this idea though, so she filed it away for later. Maybe when she was “getting things together,” she could tackle that one too.

She felt a gentle breeze and heard footsteps approaching.

She kept her eyes closed tight and watched the way the back of her eyelids changed colors from the brightness of the sky.

“Yeah. I found her.” The footsteps had a voice.

“Quinn?” the footsteps asked her softly.

Quinn opened her eyes and was unprepared for the cloudless sky that blinded her. She squinted against its resplendence and a form came into sharp focus against the electric sky. Rachel leaned down over her, slipping a cell phone into her back pocket. She was all brown hair and red sweater and golden skin. She was the fall. She was another leaf come to join her on the ground.

Quinn couldn’t help the goofy smile that washed over her face.

“See that?” she asked.

Rachel blinked at the sky where Quinn was looking.

“Umm no, what are we looking at?” she asked, slightly bewildered.

Quinn started laughing a lazy, drunken laugh.

“No silly,” she breathed. “I remembered.”

Rachel gave her a look begging for clarification.

“I remembered where you live,” she said triumphantly.

“Ahh,” Rachel nodded in understanding. “So you did.” She smiled a smile that Quinn use to worry she had forgotten. She was glad Rachel’s smile hadn’t changed. She thought maybe that was something time couldn’t touch.   

Quinn stumbled as she tried to get to her feet. Her legs were heavy and uncoordinated, but Rachel caught her arm and helped her up.

“Come on, why don’t you come inside, it’s cold out here,” Rachel said as she led Quinn up the front walk.

“No,” Quinn said, “Either it’s the alcohol or global warming, but I’m not cold.”

Rachel laughed a full laugh. The kind that flung her head back and forced her eyes closed. It was the kind of laugh that would ring in your dreams for years. It was the kind of laugh Quinn had never been able to master herself.

“Clever,” Rachel laughed, as she tugged Quinn toward the front door. Quinn thought of tugboats and harbors and tethering ropes. She thought that in this moment it was a good thing to be tethered to a tugboat like Rachel Berry. And then she remembered something important.

“Are there Great Blue Herons here?” she asked suddenly.

Rachel smiled at her. “Here at the house? No. In Ohio? Yes. They’re actually very common,” she answered without hesitation. “Their feathers were popular for milliners in the 1800s, which caused their numbers to decrease,” she added with a frown.

Quinn stopped, looked at Rachel and smiled.

“Why are you interested in birds?” Rachel asked with a tilt of her head.

“I’m a little drunk,” Quinn stated simply.

 “I’ve noticed,” she winked as she led Quinn through the house.

Quinn could hear voices coming from the back of the house. It was then that she fully realized her drunkenness. She was off balance, her mind was a thick fog and her skin prickled with inebriation. She pulled back from Rachel.

“I should prob’ly go,” she said turning around.

“It’s okay,” Rachel said spinning her back around. “Do you want something to eat? We have both turkey and tofurkey. Or would you like some coffee? I can put a pot on,” she rambled.

“I jus shoudn’ ruin your holiday like this,” Quinn explained. “I’m kinna’ drunk.”

Rachel studied her for a second. Looking past Quinn to the kitchen she made a decision. She pointed Quinn toward the stairs and led her up to her bedroom.

“Here. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll go get some supplies,” Rachel instructed, pointing to the bed. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here.”

In an instant Rachel was gone and Quinn was left standing in the middle of the room. Looking around she wondered if Rachel still lived at home. The room was still warmly decorated with posters and stuffed animals. It didn’t look like the kind of room someone used to live in. It looked like a room that someone remembered belonged to someone else. It looked cared for. It looked like a room you come home for.  

Quinn moved to the bed and collapsed on the edge. The last time she had been in this room was in high school. It was during the “Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza.” She had been drunk then too. She had snuck out of the party though and climbed the stairs to the quiet of Rachel’s room. She had just stood in the space, looking at her pictures, taking in everything about the room that made it uniquely Rachel’s. She never told anyone that she had done that because she wasn’t sure what it said about her.

The door opened again and Rachel entered with a tray filled with food and drink.

“First things first, you should eat something to soak up all that alcohol. The coffee should help too,” she said sitting down and placing the tray between them on the bed.

“I got you a little bit of everything,” she said as she handed a plate to Quinn. “Oh and I got you some aspirin too.” She handed Quinn two caplets. “It’ll help with any of the uncomfortable side effects of your inebriation.”

“Thanks,” Quinn said before she took the pills and swallowed them.

The girls were silent while Quinn picked at the food on the plate.

Rachel was first to break the silence.

“I called Santana and told her where you are,” she said. “She put out an APB on your whereabouts.”

Quinn was beginning to wish she wasn’t drunk right now. She couldn’t find any of the words to respond to Rachel the way she wanted to. She couldn’t find the perfect explanation for her behavior (partially because there was none). So she settled on the simple.

“Oh.”

Rachel looked at her.

“So what happened?” she tried to ask casually.

“I’m not sure,” Quinn answered. It was the truth. She couldn’t quite piece together what had happened. All she could remember was Santa and wishes and the feeling of forgetting. “I think I forgot.”

“Oh.” It was Rachel’s turn to settle for the simple now.

Quinn finished the food on her plate and sipped the coffee. She could see the dusky hand of twilight at work outside, setting the sky on fire. She thought sadly that it was unfortunate she couldn’t stretch the day into more. She thought that if ever a day should last, it was this one. But she had messed that up. The alcohol had its sleepy effect on her and she yawned.

“Do you want to sleep for a little?” Rachel asked.

“Umm,” Quinn hedged.

“Why don’t you sleep for a little while. You’ll feel better when you wake up and then you can join us for dessert.” Rachel had it all settled. “I made vegan apple pie,” she enticed.

“Okay.” Quinn could do with someone else making the decisions for her for a bit.

Quinn considered the possibility that it was a blessing she was still drunk as Rachel pulled a fleece blanket over her. She wasn’t sure that her sober mind would have been able to make more sense of this than her drunk mind could. She wasn’t sure that her sober self would have allowed her to climb into Rachel’s bed.  

Surrounded by the softness of the blanket she drifted off to sleep. Her mind reeled and she could feel the world spinning from behind her closed eyes. She pulled the blanket closer.

*****

She awoke a little while later to the hazy sound of a voice in the room. She thought about the dream where Rachel brought her coffee.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

It was Rachel. It hadn’t been a dream.

“No, this is Quinn’s phone. Who are you looking for again?” Rachel asked.

Quinn sat up and the world came rushing back to her.

“There’s no Lucy here,” Rachel said. Quinn could see the realization as it dawned on Rachel’s face. “I’m sorry, she’ll call you back.” She hung up the phone.

Quinn stumbled from the bed and took the phone from her. She looked at it. Katrina. She probably wanted to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving or complain about her fiancé.

“I shouldn’t have picked it up. I thought it could be your mom,” Rachel clarified.

“It’s okay,” Quinn said, her voice rough from alcohol and sleep. It sounded like sandpaper to her ears.

“Why Lucy?” Rachel asked softly.

Quinn sat down on the foot of the bed. She stared at her phone.

“It’s my name,” she answered.

“I know that. I remember from high school,” she said as she moved closer to Quinn. “Why now though?”

“It just seemed like the thing to do,” Quinn answered before she could stop herself. She looked up at Rachel, eyes pleading for her not to ask anything else.

Rachel sat next to her.

“So you’re Lucy now?” she asked.

Quinn took in a long breath. She turned to Rachel and really looked at her. Her mind was still slow from the alcohol, but her eyes felt clear and she felt like she could see clearly for the first time in days. Rachel looked the same, but something had changed. There was an ease about her, like she had finally settled into herself. Her eyes flitted to the scar on her forehead and she realized that the girl no longer had bangs. This was how she remembered Rachel when she thought about her.

She let out the breath.

“No. Sort of,” she answered. “I’m Lucy at school. It’s just something I did. I thought it would…” she trailed off.

She’s not sure what she thought it would do. She had barely graduated from Yale, but she did it. And then she went to work for a bit and then law school seemed like something she could do. It seemed like the thing that makes a person into a _person_. It seemed like something that would make things better. She applied to schools and decided that maybe Lucy would make that better too. On a whim she typed the name onto her applications. And then she chose to go to Boston because that seemed like the thing to do. By the time she realized that those things wouldn’t make it better, it was too late. She was two years into a degree she dreaded. She was the pride of parents for reasons that crushed her. She was an imposter with a new name and no past.

“Would you prefer that I call you Lucy?” Rachel asked.

“No,” she said forcefully. “Please don’t tell anyone. No one knows, not even Santana.”

“I won’t,” Rachel smiled at her.

The doorbell rang and that simple chime seemed to transform the air.

“Dessert time!” Rachel jumped up from the bed. She turned back to Quinn with a more serious expression. “I should warn you though, we have more guests for dessert – ”

“Rachel, it’s fine. I want to see this vegan apple pie you were talking about,” she replied as she walked out of the room ahead of Rachel.

Downstairs Quinn could hear more voices added to the chorus of voices from earlier. Rachel pointed her toward the kitchen and Quinn stopped in her tracks.

Beth and Shelby stood in the doorway. They noticed Quinn at the same time, but their expressions could not be more different. Shelby looked shocked by Quinn’s presence while Beth was delighted. She turned to her mother with a huge grin and then back at Quinn.

Quinn’s throat was dry and her palms were sweating.

“Hello Quinn,” Shelby spoke. “Happy Thanksgiving.” She walked over and gave Quinn a short hug.

Shelby moved over to Rachel and Quinn watched as she gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Beth stayed in the doorway smiling.

“Excuse me,” Quinn said. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked Rachel.

Rachel pointed and Quinn didn’t wait for further directions.

Once she was safely inside the bathroom she leaned on the sink and took a few calming breaths.

She was sure that wherever Russell was he was laughing at her distress. She was sure now that a cruel joke was being played on her. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was all red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. She splashed some water on her face and tried to fix her hair where it had wildly matted in her sleep, or her pavement nap, or her race through the woods. She would do this. She was tethered to Rachel. She was sure Rachel would lead her to the harbor.

She walked back to the kitchen where Rachel and family were now sitting and talking animatedly over one another.

She could hear Beth’s high-pitched voice as it floated above the rest.

“I can’t believe she’s here,” she said. “This is all I’ve ever wanted!” She hugged Rachel who was sitting next to her. “Thank you, thank you,” she squealed into Rachel’s sweater, kicking her little legs.

Quinn stepped into the kitchen. She felt out of place and awkward. She was a sham. No one should ever wish for her. Especially not Beth. She wished someone would tell the girl that.

Everyone turned to Quinn. The smiles on their faces caught her off guard. They weren’t laced with judgment or worse, resentment. They were genuine.

“Quinn, why don’t you come here and sit next to Beth?” Rachel asked brightly.

Quinn quickly composed herself and sat down on the other side of Beth. She was able to get a good look at the girl as she clung to Rachel. She tried to memorize the image in front of her. Two ghosts embracing. Two ghosts smiling at her. She knew that given the chance she would never tear this image up in her mind. She would not run from these ghosts either.  

“Rachel tells us you’re in law school?”

The question abruptly tore Quinn from her thoughts.

“Yes.” She turned to the man sitting across from her. “I’m finishing up my last year,” she said as politely as she could.

“You’re going to be a lawyer?” Beth asked.

“Yes,” she turned to the girl and gave her a smile.

“That’s so cool!” Beth exclaimed.

“Quinn went to Yale too,” Shelby told Beth.

Beth turned to Rachel and whispered, “I don’t know what that is.”

Rachel whispered back, “It’s a university in Connecticut for only the smartest people.”

“Are you the smartest person?” Beth turned back to Quinn.

“Far from it,” she thought to herself.

“She’s the smartest person I know,” Rachel answered before Quinn could say anything. Quinn felt that box in her chest as it was shaken from its place and crashed into her heart. She carefully shifted it back into place.

“Then it’s settled!” the man across from her said with a flourish of his hands. Quinn concluded that this man must be Rachel’s biological father. “Quinn is on my team for Trivial Pursuit,” he said as he got up from the table and went to retrieve the board game from the other room.

“I want to be on Quinn’s team,” Beth complained with a pout.

“You can be on mine silly,” Rachel tickled her side.

Silly. The word stuck out to Quinn and she remembered that Beth had called her that the day before. She found it jarring the way that two memories were colliding in front of her, how two memories she carried with her could play out before her eyes.

*****

For the next hour the group played a highly competitive game of Trivial Pursuit and Quinn subtly observed the group. She watched the way they interacted – like a family. She learned that Beth and Shelby had been joining the Berry’s for Thanksgiving dessert for five years because Leroy got out a photo album that chronicled as much. She learned that Rachel lived in Findlay from some good-natured ribbing from Hiram. She learned that Shelby had gotten married to another teacher three years ago when she took a call from her husband who was with their two-year-old son.

She decided then that she had been wrong about Thanksgiving all along. Her memory of Thanksgiving was nothing compared to this. She had only known comfortable, and she realized that was not something to aspire to. This was what you were supposed to hope and wish and pray for. This was unbridled joy. This was family.

“Mirth,” she said in her head. She felt eyes on her and she turned to see Rachel looking at her curiously. As soon as their eyes met Rachel turned back to the question card in her hand. Quinn couldn’t be sure if she imagined it, but she thought she saw a slight blush on the girl’s cheek. She felt one creep over hers as well.  

“Who did Richard Nixon tender his resignation to?” Rachel asked Shelby and Leroy.

They looked at each other and started whispering back and forth trying to come up with the answer.

“Okay, okay, time’s up!” Beth shouted.

“Any guesses?” Rachel asked.

“This is why I teach music and not history,” Shelby forfeited.

“Amen,” Rachel replied. “Anyone else know? Before I read the answer?”

Distractedly Quinn said, “Henry Kissinger.”

Rachel beamed at her. “That’s correct,” she said as she added the card to the discard pile.

“That’s why she’s on my team,” Hiram declared, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, you don’t get any wedges, since it’s not your turn and you already got the history piece,” Rachel said shortly. Her and Beth were losing.

“How did you know that?” Beth asked Quinn.

“School,” she responded.

“See, so you better pay attention in school so that you too can win Trivial Pursuit like Quinn,” Shelby smiled at her daughter.

“Am I going to be smart like Quinn since she’s my genes?” Beth asked Shelby.

Quinn froze. The thought frightened her. She didn’t want Beth to be anything like her. But how do you protect someone from biology? She wasn’t sure there was a way.

“Only if you go to school,” Hiram laughed.

They finished out the game happily. Quinn and Hiram won. He said that gave them bragging rights. She wondered who she could brag to about this. And then she realized that she wanted to brag about this. She wanted to shout it to the world and that struck her as a sad thought.  

After packing up the game Shelby and Beth said their goodbyes.

“I’m going to go to Yale just like you,” Beth said as she gave her a hug. She looked up at Quinn for her reaction.

“Okay. Just do what makes you happy,” she smiled down at the little girl.

Shelby walked over and gave Quinn a hug.

“It was really good to see you Quinn,” she said against her ear. “We should keep in touch, okay? I know Beth would really love that.” She placed a piece of paper in her hand. “Here’s my number and email. Call me the next time you’re in town.”

Quinn looked at the tiny scrap and saw a second chance. She never imagined it could be so small. She folded her hand around it. She looked at Beth who was saying goodbye to Hiram and Leroy.

“I’d like that too,” she said.

She stood with the Berry’s and watched as Shelby and Beth left for the night. She felt light for the first time in what felt like years.

“Okay ladies,” Leroy said. “We’re going to bed.” He kissed Rachel on the head.

“Goodnight Quinn,” Hiram said. “It was great wiping the floor with these two, wasn’t it?”

“Yes sir, it was.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for everything,” she said as they turned off some of the lights in the house and walked off up the stairs.

Rachel fell onto the couch and stretched.

“Seriously, thank you Rachel,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Rachel smiled. “This might sound weird, but I’m glad you showed up here today.”

Quinn nodded. In a weird way she was glad too. She was glad that Rachel knew when to push and when to let things go. She was glad that Rachel could make her forget about Russell and her mother and drunken speeches and flights from churches.   

“Want to watch the parade? I missed it this morning,” Rachel said as she turned on the television.

“Sure.”

Quinn settled down on the couch next to Rachel. The flickering of the television warmed the darkened living room. She thought of pyres and piles of ashes. She hoped regrets didn’t come to roost in the shadows.

Instead she listened to the way Rachel’s laugh chased away the emptiness and the way her words launched into the air and filled the silent spaces. She let herself watch Rachel from the corner of her eye as she mouthed along to songs she knew. She let herself soak it up because the day was quickly running out and she didn’t know if she’d get another chance.  

“Oh keep an eye out during this one,” Rachel said as she sat up and focused on the television.

The music for “I’ve Had the Time of My Life,” started, and Quinn remembered hearing the song earlier that morning.

“Wait, they made _Dirty Dancing_ into a musical?” she asked Rachel who quickly shushed her with a hand on her arm.

She didn’t move her hand and Quinn became distracted by its searing weight on her arm.

“There he is!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Look, it’s Blaine!”

Quinn turned back to the television and sure enough, there was Blaine Anderson dancing with the company of Dirty Dancing: The Musical.

Quinn turned back to Rachel and watched as she watched the performance. Happiness painted her face and her cheeks glowed. She looked so happy. The performance ended and Rachel turned off the television.

“That’s really the only reason I wanted to watch this year,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder. “Blaine’s in the ensemble, but he understudies the role of Billy Kostecki too.”

“So why aren’t you in New York?” Quinn asked in the tranquility of the living room.

“Because I’m here,” she laughed.

“What happened after NYADA?” Quinn tried again.

“Nothing,” Rachel said dispassionately. “I didn’t graduate from NYADA. I ended up transferring after the fall of my sophomore year. I moved back here and graduated from OSU.”

“Why did you transfer?” Quinn asked, stunned.

“It just didn’t work out,” Rachel said with a smile.

“How? Did you not get any parts?” Quinn pressed.

Rachel thought about her answer for a second. Quinn listened to the clock on the wall count off the seconds.

“Actually I got all the leads my freshman year,” she finally answered. She looked down at her hands and Quinn watched as she knitted her fingers together and then pulled them apart. “It was exactly how I always imagined it. Everyone wanted me in their shows. I was the star and I was finally appreciated for my talent.” She sighed.

Quinn nodded at her to continue.

“Something was missing though. I had always thought that success was going to fill me up and make me complete. It never occurred to me that it might not be enough, until it wasn’t enough.”

Rachel looked at the shock on Quinn’s face.

“Don’t look so shocked Quinn,” she chastised with a good-natured shove. “I’m happy. I really am. I’m just happy in a way 18-year-old me wouldn’t have predicted. I teach music at Findlay High and I’m good at it. Really good at it. It makes me happy in a way performing never did.”

“What about New York?” Quinn asked.

“What about it? I can still visit. Just last year I chaperoned a field trip to New York City for the Thanksgiving Day Parade. And you know what? It was the happiest I had ever been in the city.”

They were quiet again. Quinn listened again to the ticking of the clock and thought about how easily the sound disappears when you’re not listening for it and how obvious it becomes when you finally hear it. Really hear it. This made her think of Rachel.  

“Want to watch a movie?” Rachel asked flipping back on the television. “I think I recorded _Miracle on 34 th Street_ today. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Sure,” Quinn smiled.

She sat close to Rachel on the couch and watched the movie for the second time that day. She felt cozy in the darkened living room sitting next to the girl who was no longer just a memory. She could feel herself drifting off at the end of the movie. The last thing she remembered hearing was the sound of Rachel’s even breathing accompanying Susan as she said, “Mommy told me if things don’t turn out just the way you want them to the first time you still got to believe, and I kept believing…”

As she lost herself to exhaustion she tried to stay conscious of Rachel’s figure next to hers. The way it was slightly leaning toward her own and the way warmth seemed to emanate from her. She thought that if she had to believe in anything, she would believe in Rachel. She would let herself have that, just for one night.

Before she fell asleep she said to the tick tock of time “I take it back. I’m thankful for this. I’m thankful for détentes. I’m thankful for Rachel.”

With that she fell asleep to the phantom feeling of Rachel next to her.   


	5. Chapter 5

_Friday’s child is loving and giving._

Quinn walked along a deserted street. She stepped in and out of pools of light. They splashed with every step and flecks of color were sent flying.

 She could feel some sort of energy pulsing through the air – a static that set the hairs on her arm on edge. It grew stronger the further along she walked. Up ahead she could see a high wall. The closer to the wall she got, the more frenetic the energy got. It surged through the air and set her skin on fire with a heat she could only compare to a feeling of the closeness of a storm. By the time she got to the wall the air was humming with vibrancy.

She put a hand to the wall and felt it quake in the air. She pulled her hand away, worried it would topple over on her. Her eyes moved up the expanse of brick and mortar in front of her. She wondered what lay hidden on the other side. She wondered how she could get into the space the wall fortified.

She spun around and surveyed where she had come from and instantly realized her mistake. The wall was not keeping her out, it was keeping her in. The wall extended around her on all sides. She turned back to the solid mass in front of her. It shook and trembled in resistance to the charged air that thrummed around her. She worried the wall would crush her if it fell, but she wanted to find the source on the other side.

She put one hand on the wall and found purchase in a crevice. She lifted her foot and determined that she would scale the wall despite the way it swayed like an unsteady Jenga tower. She climbed for days. She climbed for days and she never slept. She was so close to the top. She put her hand on the topmost ledge and tried to pull herself up. The wall shook in defiance to the air. She lost her grip and plummeted down, down, down.

With a gasp she woke up. She looked around and slowly she remembered where she was. She took in the gentle _tick-tock_ of the clock that rhythmically punctured the stillness of Rachel’s living room. She was still on the couch, sunk into a quicksand-like cushion she didn’t much feel like trying to get out of. Her arm was warm where it was pressed against Rachel’s sleeping form. She thought to herself that this was the first time in her life she had ever woke beside someone like this and the thought both comforted her and set her on edge.  

The intoxicating scent of shampoo and fabric softener filled her senses. It was a smell she always associated with Rachel. She couldn’t remember when her brain had first made the association. Could it have been in high school? All she knew was that once when she was walking down a street in New Haven during undergrad the smell had wafted past her like a specter from her past and her mind had been flooded with thoughts of the girl. That had been a cheap imitation of Rachel, but sitting in the darkened living room now, it was haunting to have the real thing.  

She watched Rachel and the way the darkness of the room obscured her features so that she became a shadow. Sharing the dark with her Quinn could feel her nerves jump to life. It was all too close and too perfect in the dark, the way the shadows cocooned around them and distorted the truth. The way they begged Quinn to just curl closer to Rachel and go back to sleep.

Quinn slowly pulled away from Rachel. The clock on the wall ticked a morse code warning to her that it was close to dawn. It was close to the time when daylight became an enemy and illuminated dreams with the harsh light of day.

She should not have stayed, she admonished herself as she tried to gently get up from the couch without disturbing Rachel. She looked down at her stockinged feet and remembered that Rachel had made her take off her shoes prior to taking a nap the day before. She cursed the thought that she had to sneak through the still house like a criminal before she could make her escape.

Carefully, she lightly treaded up the stairs to Rachel’s room. She found her cell phone on the bed and slipped it into her pocket. She found her shoes neatly placed at the foot of the bed. She stared at their perfect placement and allowed herself to imagine how Rachel had looked when she had placed them there. She thought of tenderness, but shook the word from her mind.

With one last look around the four walls of Rachel’s bedroom, she retraced her route through the house. She got to the front door and with a hand on the doorknob she sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t set off an alarm by opening it. She turned the knob.

“Where are you going?” Rachel’s voice floated across the living room, thick with sleep. Her head had popped up from behind the couch.

“I have to go,” Quinn whispered back to her shadow.

“It’s still dark out. Stay. You can eat breakfast with us,” Rachel said, sitting up a little more.

“I should go,” Quinn repeated.

Rachel stood up from the couch and stretched.

“Okay, give me a minute. I’ll drive you home,” Rachel said as she walked toward her and opened the coat closet. She pulled on a coat and handed Quinn an OSU sweatshirt. “Here,” she said. She moved to pick up her car keys from the table next to the door.  

“That’s okay,” Quinn rushed out, “I’m just gonna walk.”

Rachel stilled, hand poised to pick up the keys.

“Oh,” her face fell.

“Bye Rachel,” Quinn said as she opened the front door and walked out into the dim light.

She didn’t hear Rachel’s response as she hurriedly closed the door behind her.

The grass was brittle with early morning frost. Her shoes crunched along the yard and the sound chased her to the street. She watched her breath disappear in vaporous puffs in front of her face.

She walked quickly away from the Berry house, driven by an inexplicable need to run away from her embarrassment.

Quinn turned in the general direction of her house and with each step she felt herself calm down. She liked the way the chill in the air seemed to sharpen all her senses. It seemed to outline the world in sharp lines and magnify the sounds and smells of the waking world.  

From behind her she could hear the sound of the air parting and the pavement meeting running feet.

“Quinn! Wait up!” Rachel shouted.

Quinn stopped in her tracks and turned around to see Rachel racing down the street, hair flying and arms flailing. She smiled as she approached Quinn.

Quinn questioned her with a look. Rachel started walking and pulled her along.

“I’m not going to let you walk alone,” she said. “Someone could easily kidnap you, or worse.” She took the OSU sweatshirt from where Quinn still held it grasped in her hand and held it out for her. “You should put this on – you don’t want to catch a cold.”

Quinn obliged.

They walked along in amicable silence. It felt like the first day of school. It felt like waiting for the bus on a chilly first day of school. It felt like possibility, so Quinn wrapped the feeling around herself a little tighter. 

Quinn thought that _this_ was walking with someone. She couldn’t remember ever really doing that, just walking with someone and not saying anything. She noticed that she had subconsciously matched her footsteps to Rachel’s. _Left, right, left, right_. She let the rhythm ring in her ears. It didn’t sound like ticking time or war drums. It sounded like steadiness.

They started up the little hill that marked the halfway point between Rachel’s house and Quinn’s.

She felt a pressure on her arm. She looked down and saw that Rachel had grabbed her arm and they had stopped walking.

“Wait,” Rachel said.

Quinn looked at her expectantly.

“What?” she asked.

Rachel pointed out in front of them.

“Wait for it,” she said.

“What are we waiting for?”

“Just wait for it,” Rachel repeated.

“What –” Rachel cut her off.

“Patience Quinn. Patience.”

So Quinn waited. She kept her eyes focused on the spot Rachel had pointed out and she waited. Soon enough she saw a golden halo top the crest of the hill. She watched as the halo expanded and engulfed the hill in the brilliant flames of morning.

Rachel’s hand remained on her arm, keeping her in place. Quinn was glad for that. She was sure if she let go she might float away. They stood like that, quietly, until the sun had made its weary way up the hill.

Rachel pulled her hand away.

“Sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a sunrise,” she said.

“Me too,” Quinn responded.

Rachel nudged Quinn’s shoulder with her own.

“Come on,” she smiled.

They turned and continued their way down the hill together and Quinn noticed that a car next to them was delivering papers and the driver had watched the girls watching the sunrise. She smiled. She had a witness and somehow that reassured her that it had been real.

They walked on in silence until they reached Quinn’s street.

“How will you get home now?” Quinn asked.

Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at Quinn.

“I can walk,” she answered.

“What about kidnappers, or worse?” she joked.

“I have mace,” she said. “And a rape whistle.” She patted her coat pocket.

Quinn laughed. It wasn’t quite a Rachel Berry laugh but it was honest and it rang down the empty street and she saw Rachel light up at the sound. Its lightness carried them the last few steps to the front of Quinn’s house. It looked quiet from the outside, but Quinn could imagine what was waiting for her behind the red front door.

“Will you be okay?” Rachel asked, her voice laced with concern.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could come in with you,” Rachel offered.

“That’s okay. Thanks Rachel.”

“Okay,” she said. And then she pulled Quinn into a hug. The need to run away magnified tenfold but Quinn returned the embrace.

When they pulled apart they stared at each other before Rachel looked away.

“Bye Rachel,” Quinn tried to smile. She turned and started to walk across the lawn to the door.

“Wait!” Rachel called to her. “What are you doing later today?”

Quinn turned to the house. She could already hear the fight that was waiting for her.

“Nothing, I guess,” she said.

“Want to do something?” she asked awkwardly.

“Sure,” Quinn responded, her hands shaking in her pockets.

“Okay,” Rachel chirped. “Be ready at 6.”

“What are we doing?” Quinn asked.

“You’ll see,” Rachel sing-songed.

 “Okay,” she nodded slowly with a smile on her face.

“Good morning Quinn,” Rachel said with a small wave and a warm smile.

“Good morning Rachel,” she echoed before opening the door and closing it behind her. And it was a good morning. It felt like an honest-to-God good morning.

Once inside she went to the window and watched as Rachel stood looking at the house. She watched through the window as Rachel saw her standing inside and raised her hand and waved self-consciously. Rachel turned and did a little skip before walking off, phone in hand. Quinn imagined she was calling Hiram, or Leroy to come pick her up.

Quinn watched until she was out of sight. She wrapped her arms around herself and noticed that she was still wearing Rachel’s OSU sweatshirt. She pulled the sleeves over her hands and basked in its softness. She brought one of the sleeves up to her nose to make sure the sweatshirt smelled like Rachel. It did. She smiled as she walked through the house to the kitchen.

The cocktail of shampoo and fabric softener distracted her from the smells of her house. She didn’t notice the smell of coffee until she was already through the kitchen doorway.

Judy was sitting at the kitchen table with Frannie. The two women cradled mugs of coffee. They were both in their pajamas and looked like they didn’t get any sleep.

Quinn walked over the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She turned back to the women who were eerily quiet.

She moved to leave the room.

“Sit down,” Judy said tonelessly.

Quinn looked at the women carefully. She crossed to the table and sat down across from her mother and sister.

“Where have you been?” Judy asked.

“I was at a friend’s house.” She measured her words.

“What friend?” Frannie jumped in. “And don’t say Brittney because we called her.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes at her sister. She realized Santana must not have told her family where she ended up the day before. She would have to remind herself to thank Santana for her discretion.

“I was at a friend’s house,” Quinn repeated.

Judy shook her head sadly. Quinn could see tears welling in her eyes.

“What is going on with you Quinn?” she asked.

Quinn jumped in, “Nothing –”

“Don’t say that,” Judy cut her off. “First the funeral, then yesterday. I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Quinn asked with more bite than she intended.

“What? That you’ve been nothing but a raging bitch –” Frannie started.

“Francine!” Judy scolded.

“Well she has,” Frannie continued. “She’s been like this since she got home.”

Quinn took another sip of O.J.

“That’s not true,” Quinn said.

“Oh really?” Judy said. “You disagree?”

Quinn shook her head in frustration. She didn’t want to get into this now. Not when she felt happiness hiding so close. 

Tears were silently slipping down Judy’s cheeks.

“Is this about the baby?” Frannie asked. “Are you jealous of me and Chris?” she added.

Quinn was in disbelief.

“No, I’m not jealous of you and Chris.” The words flew out of her mouth in a rush. “This has nothing to do with you Frannie. For once,” she huffed, “for once please have the sense to know that not everything is about you.”

“What is it then?” Judy questioned, exasperated. “Why are you so bent on humiliating this family?”

Quinn scoffed.

“Is it your father?” Judy asked.

“Don’t call him that,” Quinn spat. “That man is nothing to me.”

Quinn waited for her mother to put it together. She waited for Judy to wake up and realize the pain that she had been put through at the hands of Russell Fabray. She waited for Judy to say “I’m so sorry Quinn. I never should have let him kick you out of the house like that. I should never have gotten back together with him. I never should have made you feel like the only solution was to kill yourself working for his approval.”

But it never happened. The silence was deafening and time moved more slowly the longer they waited. And then Judy stood up from the table. She walked out of the kitchen.

Quinn had a moment of utter clarity as she watched Judy’s retreating form. It was her _Sixth Sense_ moment where all the clues came together. She wanted to laugh at the obviousness of it all.

Her mother had never been one for confrontation – that had always been Russell’s job. With Russell gone now any sort of uncomfortable conflict would disappear.

Quinn remembered when she told her parents she was pregnant. Her mother had known for weeks that something was wrong with her, but she never said anything about it. She just swept it under the carpet. She remembered when she came out to Judy. “I don’t know what to do for you,” she had cried. And then they never talked about it again. Judy wished problems away and her willful blindness made it so.

Quinn’s heart broke when she realized that her mother honestly didn’t know what was wrong, nor did she care to find out.

She looked up and Frannie was staring at her darkly.

“Why are you doing this to mom?” she finally asked.

Quinn just looked at her. Her sister looked more like Judy than she did. She was all delicate features and wheat blonde hair. Her clear blue eyes were bloodshot.

“What am I doing to mom?” Quinn asked.

“Why did you have to embarrass her in front of everyone?” Frannie asked. “If something’s bothering you why can’t you just talk about it like a normal person?”

Quinn laughed humorlessly. “When has this family ever talked about anything? When have they ever wanted to hear anything I have to say?”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Frannie asked, warming slightly.

“No I can’t. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“Don’t do that Quinn. You’re always been so good at closing yourself off. You’re better at it than I ever was. I use to be jealous that you could tune it all out. But I see what it’s done to you,” Frannie said. “If you don’t want to talk to me maybe you should go talk to someone?”

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself,” Quinn said before getting up from the table.

Chris was in the doorway. He tried to stop her.

“Hey that was a little uncalled for,” he chided.

“You can go fuck yourself too,” she said before racing up the stairs and locking herself in her room. She crumpled onto her bed and screamed into her pillow.

She wouldn’t let herself cry though. She wasn’t going to cry over stupidity and ignorance. She wasn’t going to cry for anyone.

She drifted off into a restless sleep where she was back at the wall. Climbing, climbing, up, up, up. No end in sight.  

*****

There was a soft knock at her door later that day. She was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, still wearing Rachel’s OSU sweatshirt. She didn’t move.

The knock repeated, this time a little louder.

“Quinn?” a muffled voice asked.

She rolled herself off the bed and walked to the door unlocking it. She didn’t bother to open it and instead returned to her place on the bed.

The door slowly opened and Santana entered the room followed by Brittany.

“Hey Q,” Santana murmured. “What happened in here,” she asked, taking in the utter disarray.

“Woah,” Brittany said looking around. “Did you lose your keys?” she asked. “That happens to me all the time,” she said to Santana.

Quinn didn’t move. She didn’t even look at her friends. They were an invading army she thought. She would just lie in wait until she was ready to attack. That was all she could do.

Brittany sat down on the bed next to her and Santana walked around the room looking at the damage. She stopped at the desk and picked up the pieces of the Glee Club photo, shaking her head.

“You know Q? You’ve really done it this time,” she finally said turning around to look at the girls on the bed.

Quinn sat up. If this was the first cry of battle she would be ready.  

Brittany put a calming hand on Quinn’s leg. A white flag.

“San I thought we agreed to do this my way?” Brittany asked, shooting Santana a hurt look.

“That was before I saw this warzone, and that _thing_ pretending to be Quinn,” Santana said.

Brittany looked at Quinn carefully. Quinn felt self-conscious under the girl’s gaze.

“I don’t think you’re pretending,” Brittany smiled at her. “I think you’re sad. And I think you don’t know how to let people in because you’re afraid of what they’ll see. So you think you have to do everything alone, and I think that scares you.”

Quinn looked away. What she hated more than people looking at her too closely was when people were right about her.

Santana let out a sigh. She righted the fallen desk chair and sat down. She rubbed her eyes and leaned forward.

"We’re worried about you,” she said after a moment.

Brittany patted Quinn’s leg in agreement.

Santana continued, “We’re worried about you, but honestly? I’m at a loss. I don’t know whether to slap you or hug you.”

Quinn didn’t say anything. She turned and looked out the window.

“If this is some kind of intervention you can stop,” she said. “I already got one this morning.”

Brittany shook her head, “No, Santana said nothing about an intervention. She only said we were going to have a ‘Quinntervention.’ So I think this is that.”

Santana smiled and rolled her eyes. She got up from the chair and moved to the bed.

“Something’s gotta give,” she said, eyes intent on Quinn’s. “I thought that once you got into Yale everything would change for you. I thought that would fix everything.”

Quinn shifted uncomfortably under her steady gaze.

“I thought yes, now you’ll finally see what a badass you really are and you could get away from everything in high school with the baby and Puck and Finn and you’d finally admit what a huge fucking gaymo you are.” Santana laughed.

“I thought you’d be out the summer after senior year of high school,” Brittany chimed in. “We made a bet after you told Glee Club you got into Yale.”

“And for a while it looked that way – you made me give Prom Queen to Rachel and then you gave her those stupid train tickets.” Santana laughed. “But then your parents got back together that summer,” Santana said angrily.

They were all silent. Quinn remembered when her father had moved in shortly after she graduated from high school. Russell had come back into their lives after two years like nothing had happened. For a time she started to believe that nothing had happened.

“Do you remember when you came out to us?” Santana asked carefully.

Quinn’s memory of that night was hazy at best. It was also the reason she didn’t drink anymore. The three girls had been hanging out over Christmas break of Santana and Quinn’s first year of college. They were drinking tequila in Brittany’s parents’ basement. Brittany had her ipod blaring through the speakers and they were taking shots in honor of everything they saw.

“Let’s drink to winter!” Santana had suggested.

“Let’s drink to mistletoe!” Brittany had exclaimed, pulling Santana in for a kiss.

Quinn had felt her happiness mingle with the alcohol and without prompting from her friends she had blurted out, “I’m gay, let’s drink to that!” After that moment the night was more of a blur, an abstract painting where forms and shapes were warped and unclear.  

“I remember,” Quinn reluctantly answered.

“You told us you knew you were gay in high school, but then you drunkenly said something cryptic about the universe conspiring against you, or some angsty emo shit like that,” Santana said.

Quinn watched as Santana and Brittany had a silent conversation with their eyes. Brittany finally turned and looked at her.

“Quinn you’ve always been so strong,” she said. “And I get that. You had to be strong because that’s how you were raised and it was the only way you could survive. But you’ve never been brave and I think you need to be brave now.”

Quinn stared at her. She tried to understand the difference between strength and bravery, but she couldn’t be sure there was one. Didn’t both words mean you were alone? Didn’t both words mean you had to fight alone?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she finally snapped.

“You’re only unhappy because you think that anytime you go after the thing you want some terrible monster is going to jump out and get you,” Brittany explained. “Or a truck, or Russell,” she added.

“Wow, how insightful of you Dr. Reductive,” Quinn growled.  

“Don’t be a bitch,” Sanatan scolded. “And it’s the truth. You’ve had flashes of bravery. You gave up your daughter for adoption. You came out, in the most minimal of ways I might add. I even think that somehow that car accident senior year was leading up to a moment of bravery for you,” Santana eyed her knowingly, but Quinn didn’t let herself think about that one too closely.  “But you think that when bad things happen it’s the universe telling you shouldn’t want what you want, or that you shouldn’t even try,” Santana finished.

“The truth is, sometimes bad things happen and it doesn’t mean anything more than that,” Brittany added.

“The second Russell was back in the picture your entire life stopped. And you never started it up again,” Santana lamented. “It was like he was the big bad telling you that nothing would ever work out for you. And what kills me is you knew what you wanted when you came out to us, but you never did anything about it.”

“What does that even mean?” Quinn was quickly losing her patience.

“We know how you feel about Rachel,” Brittany blurted out.

“Brittany we said we were keeping that one to ourselves,” Santana shouted.

Quinn’s stomach dropped. Her feelings for Rachel were something that she barely let herself think about, she hated to think that Brittany and Santana had somehow figured that one out. She thought about denying it, but she was too tired to say anything.   

“You told us the night you came out,” Brittany said. “We didn’t think you wanted us to know though because you kept saying ‘I never wanted anyone to know this.’”

“We don’t want you regretting your whole life,” Santana added. “You can be happy. You just need to be brave.”

“And that’s why we’re having a movie night tonight!” Brittany exclaimed. “We’ve rounded up every underdog movie from our parents’ houses for inspiration. All we could find were _The Mighty Ducks_ and _Airbud_ ,” Brittany added as she pulled DVDs from her bag.

" _Airbud_ is a more literal interpretation than we were going for, but we were pressed for time,” Santana interjected.

“I appreciate it, I really do, only –” Quinn started.

“You’re pissed at us for ambushing you?” Brittany asked.

“No. A little,” Quinn laughed. “I can’t do a movie night though.”

“Why not? Did your mom adult ground you?” Brittany asked.

Quinn took a deep breath.

“No. I have plans.” She looked at the clock on her nightstand. “I have plans in an hour and I need to get ready.” Letting people in felt like unraveling slowly and painfully.

“What plans?” Santana asked suspiciously. “Are you seriously grounded?”

“I’m going out,” Quinn said. She took another deep breath. “With Rachel,” she added. It felt like unraveling. It felt like pulling the threads apart and letting someone see her seams.

"Berry?” Santana asked.

Quinn nodded.  

Brittany beamed at her and then at Santana.

“Okay, so all you have to do now is be brave,” Brittany advised with a satisfied nod.

*****

At six o’clock sharp Quinn saw Rachel pull up to the house. She ran out of the house and got in the car before anyone could ask her where she was going. She hadn’t spoken to Judy or Frannie at all that day, but she left a post-it note on the kitchen table that read: “Going out, be back later. Q.” That would have to be enough.  

"Hey there,” Rachel said brightly. “Are you ready for some football?” she sang.

“We’re going to a football game?” Quinn asked skeptically, fastening her seatbelt.

“Yes Quinn we are. Some of my students are football players and cheerleaders and I like to support their extracurricular endeavors by attending home games.”

“Alright then,” Quinn smiled.

They drove in silence for some time. Quinn subtly watched the way Rachel drove, the careful way she checked her mirrors, the turn of her head as she looked to change lanes. She wanted to memorize all of it.

Forty minutes later they arrived at Findlay High School. Rachel parked the car and they made their way to the football field where a crowd had already formed in the stands. Students milled about. It reminded Quinn of high school. She felt that same feeling she use to feel at all the games in high school. That feeling of being boundless. That feeling that time would stand still if you asked it to. It was a feeling that was wasted on the young and haunting to the old. She welcomed it now.

Rachel led her to the gate leading into the football field. They were stopped by a ticket taker. Rachel flashed a badge at the woman.

“She’s with me,” she motioned to Quinn. She pulled Quinn toward the bleachers.

“Impressive,” Quinn commented.

Rachel showed Quinn her badge. It was her faculty ID. She beamed in the photo.  

“One of the many perks of being an employee of the town of Findlay. Not only do I get summers off, I also have some pull at school functions.”

“And I repeat, impressive,” Quinn said, smiling at her.

They settled onto the bleachers and waited for the game to begin. Cheerleaders and football players warmed-up on the field.

“So what do you think?” Rachel asked.

“It’s weird to be at one of these things and not be cheering,” Quinn finally said to break the silence.

Rachel smiled at her.

“Do you go to a lot of games?” Quinn asked.

"Yes,” Rachel answered. “I think it’s important to encourage my students and show that I care about them as whole people, not just the people that sit in my class five days a week for one hour.”

“So you’re adopting the Will Shuester approach to teaching then?” Quinn asked, only half joking.

Rachel looked appalled.

“Oh God no,” she scoffed. “Looking back on it I’ve realized he had an inappropriate level of involvement with our class.”

Quinn laughed, looking around the brightness of the field under the lights.

“What you don’t think so?” Rachel continued.

“No, I do,” Quinn agreed, turning to face Rachel. “In all the time I spent at McKinley I don’t think I ever actually saw him with other students,” she mused.

Rachel nodded. “God help me if I ever ask one of my students to be maid of honor at my wedding,” she joked.

The sharp blast of a whistle pierced the air and all attention was directed at the field. Quinn and Rachel sat and watched the first half of the game. Quinn’s attention was more focused on Rachel as she cheered for her students and participated in the cheers led by the cheerleaders. She was as enthusiastic as ever. And that was something Quinn had always admired her for – the way she could just throw herself completely into an activity, the way she could completely give herself over to the enjoyment of something. Quinn had never really been able to do that. She always maintained a certain level of control, a studied distance. Quinn tried to let herself go. She tried to live in the moment, but all her failures stood lined up behind her, reminding her that things rarely turned out the way she planned.

She breathed in the rabid energy of the fans around her and tried to imagine she was at McKinley. She pretended it was her senior year of high school. She wondered if this is what it would have felt like to be with Rachel. She looked at the girl practically jumping from the seat next to her. Yes. This is what it would have been like. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and let that false memory wash over her.  

A buzzer sounded that it was half-time and Quinn had to abandon her reverie. Rachel asked if Quinn wanted to stretch, so they got up from their seats and proceeded to walk around the field.

“Hey Ms. B!” a student called from the stands as they walked along.

Rachel waved in response.

“Ms. B,” a girl said, as they passed a group of students huddled together. “Showing your Findlay pride?” she laughed.

Rachel smiled kindly at the girl and then at the group.

“Go Findlay!” she exclaimed with a little fist pump in the air.

“Ms. B, you’re not going to make us do more music dictation on Monday, are you?” a gangly boy asked.

“You’ll have to come to class and find out,” Rachel replied ambiguously.

The group moaned.

“Dictation is killing us!” another boy groaned.

Rachel laughed.

“I assure you dictation will only slightly maim you at best, and besides, you’ll thank me when you’re majoring in music in college and can keep up with the best of them. I’m doing this with your futures in mind,” she explained.

Quinn studied the easy interaction between Rachel and her students. She was a natural – which was a strange thought since she had never considered that Rachel would excel at being a teacher. But there she was, interested and charming and completely engaging. Her students loved her and Quinn had no doubt they would all be there in class on Monday.

“Have a good night guys,” Rachel said before she nudged Quinn on. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Quinn said quickly. “They love you,” she said giving the group one more parting look.  

Rachel smiled shyly at her. She looked away at the sound of her name being called.

“Rach!” a guy their age was calling. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Rachel skipped the short distance to him and gave him a hug. He picked her up and spun her around.

“Happy Thanksgiving Rich!” she exclaimed.

He set her down.

“Happy Thanksgiving Rach,” he mimicked.

Quinn joined them. Rich looked at her.

“Quinn Fabray, as I live and breathe,” he said smiling at her.

Quinn had no clue who he was. He looked between Quinn and Rachel.

“So you won’t come out when I ask, but you will when Quinn Fabray asks,” he pouted to Rachel.

She hit him in the chest. “Don’t be a jerk Rich. I asked her.”

Quinn was still confused as to who this Rich was.

“Oh well in that case,” he feigned insult. “In all seriousness though, it’s good to see you Quinn. You haven’t changed a bit.”

He then hugged Rachel with promises to call her later and see her on Monday. But Quinn was still stuck on what he said. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Quinn hated that. She hated it because it was true. She hated it because it reminded her that she was still the same in all the ways she hated. Still sad. Still a coward.

They walked back to their seats.

“Sorry about him,” Rachel said, “sometimes I get the feeling he doesn’t know how to behave in public.”

“How did he know me?” Quinn wondered out loud.

“You didn’t recognize him?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Quinn shook her head.

“That’s Rich Nelson,” Rachel explained. “From high school,” she added for clarity’s sake.

“I don’t remember any Rich Nelson,” Quinn said, searching her memory for the name or the face.

“Rick ‘The Stick’ Nelson?” Rachel questioned. “Granted, that was a ridiculous nickname and I’m glad he goes by Rich now. And that he cut that horrendous mullet,” she added seriously.

"That was Rick ‘The Stick’?” Quinn asked incredulously. “You’re friends with Rick ‘The Stick’?”

“No, I’m friends with Rich. Roommates actually. We re-met at OSU and have been friends ever since. He teaches geometry here.”

“But he was a jerk in high school. He slushied you,” Quinn objected.

“So did you. And besides Quinn, don’t you think life is about adapting and adjusting your expectations? Of people especially?” Rachel asked with a tilt of her head.

She had never thought about it that way. How adjusting your expectations could work for the better or for the worse. She adjusted her expectations for family. She adjusted her expectations for herself. Both with disastrous effects. But maybe Rachel was on to something. 

Quinn turned that thought over in her mind as they watched the rest of the game in companionable silence.

Around ten o’clock the game ended and they walked to the car and started the drive back to Lima.

“This was fun,” Quinn said once they were on the highway.

“I agree,” Rachel said as she sped under an overpass.

“I love that,” Quinn commented.

“What?” Rachel asked giving her a quick glance.

“It’s so quiet when you go under an overpass like that. I never realized it until this one time in undergrad a friend took me out driving. He had this old t-top and he took me out in it. We were on the highway and he was driving well over the speed limit, but we drove under this overpass and the rush of the air against the cement of the bridge seemed to chase all the noise away. It was just the most silent silence I have ever experienced in my life. Ever since then I imagine that is what heaven or death or dying must be like.” She looked at Rachel self-consciously. “That probably sounds stupid,” she said turning to look out the window.

Rachel put on her blinker and changed lanes.

“I think it’s nice. I think it would be nice to be in a car forever, for eternity and just have it be quiet,” Rachel said. “Especially if you get to pick who’s in the car with you,” she whispered.

“That would be nice,” Quinn smiled. And in that moment she had a clear idea who she would want in the car with her.

Rachel turned the car onto an exit ramp. Quinn didn’t want the evening to end. She wanted to keep driving. She wanted to keep imagining that eternity was like this and not like whatever awaited her at home.

She sighed, “I don’t want to go home.”

“Okay,” Rachel said.

She drove on.

*****

They pulled into the McKinley High parking lot 15 minutes later.

“What are we doing here?” Quinn asked as Rachel drove around the back of the school and parked.

“We’re visiting our old stomping ground,” Rachel said as she turned off the car and got out. “I’m feeling a little nostalgic from the game. Come on Quinn,” Rachel said.

They walked around the perimeter of the building looking for ways the building had changed and reminiscing about things that had happened.

“I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to come out and say that I am sorry about the passing of your father,” Rachel said after a while.

Quinn listened as their footsteps echoed off the side of the building.

“I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I would be remiss not to say it,” Rachel said to the ground.

They completed their lap of the school and walked past Rachel’s car to the tennis courts that lined the back parking lot of the school. The gate was open so they went onto the courts.

Rachel sat down on the smooth pavement of the court. Quinn sat down next to her.

“Were you upset to see me at the funeral,” Rachel asked hesitantly.            

“A little,” Quinn answered even though it wasn’t the whole truth.

“I figured,” Rachel murmered.

“He didn’t deserve to have you singing for him,” Quinn tried to clarify. “You’re too good for him.”

Rachel nodded in silence. “I wasn’t singing for him,” she said.

Quinn hugged herself against the cold and squinted up at the full moon as it illuminated the tennis court.

“I am glad that you’re still singing,” Quinn noted. “I still can’t believe you’re not in New York though.”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t really think about it.”

Quinn found that hard to believe. For all of high school it was all the girl had ever talked about. She said as much to Rachel.

“Well, I guess I realized that maybe happiness wasn’t about getting everything I ever wanted. I didn’t have to work to get people to pay attention to my talent. They heard me sing and that was it. But it wasn’t a sweet victory like glee club had been.” Rachel sighed to the night sky and leaned back on her hands to look up at the moon. “It’s probably because they were never my real friends – not like you all were. I guess my priorities changed,” Rachel concluded with another small shrug.

That reminded Quinn of something.

“Do you think I haven’t changed? Rick – Rich said that earlier. I hate it when people say that.”

Rachel studied her. “When I saw you the other day I thought you looked the same. You were as pretty as ever. But you also looked sadder than I remembered.” After a beat she asked, “Do you think I’m the same?”

“Only in the good ways,” Quinn answered honestly before she could stop herself.

Rachel smiled shyly. “I think what Rich said is just something people say. I’m sure you’re not entirely the same person you were in high school Quinn. A lot happens in eight years.”

“Sure,” Quinn said, “but the way people say that I haven’t changed, it just makes me feel stalled. It makes me feel like nothing I’ve done has meant anything. Like Yale or law school or coming out or dealing with my family.” She caught herself too late. She awkwardly cleared her throat.

Rachel started to speak and then stopped herself. She tried again and stopped herself.

“Just forget it,” Quinn said shaking her head nervously.

“You came out?” Rachel finally asked quietly.

“Yes,” Quinn barely whispered.

“That’s really great,” Rachel said kindly.

Quinn looked up at her, surprised by her words.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It means you’ve changed,” she smiled.

Quinn arched an eyebrow at her.

Rachel laughed. “It’s funny, but I liked seeing you with Beth last night,” she said. “I would always see these little flashes of you in her for all these years. Like that little squint you do? Beth does that too. And the eyebrow. She’s got the Quinn Fabray arched eyebrow perfected. I never felt like you were far away,” Rachel said.

They sat quietly for a little longer, listening to the wind as it sang through the trees. Quinn’s heart was pounding, but she didn’t feel like running. She was feeling honest and she put her hand on her chest and wondered if honesty was the cure for the discomfort she had been feeling for years.

“I lied before,” Quinn blurted. “I wasn’t upset to see you. I was just surprised.”

She thought about the shock of seeing Rachel at the funeral two days earlier. She thought about the difference between coincidence and kismet. She wondered if you could ever really know the difference. In the end coincidence and kismet had the potential to shatter your world in the most perfect and unplanned ways.  

And thinking about it maybe Russell dying was his one gift to her – because she didn’t know how to get here. She didn’t know how to get back to Rachel and now she’s here, sitting on a tennis court under the stars with Rachel. And she almost wanted to thank Russell. Almost. But she didn’t because in the next second there were the headlights of a police car pulling in the parking lot and Rachel was giggling and pulling her out of the cop’s line of vision.

And then they were running and then Rachel pulled her down on the hill at the back of the tennis courts and Quinn was laughing too. Lying against the little hill she thought of war movies and trenches and she thought she could fight if Rachel was in the trenches with her.

Quinn could breathe and she didn’t feel like touching that spot on her chest because the box was smaller now and more manageable.

So she placed her hand to Rachel’s chest instead. Right where she’s sure there would never be a box because Rachel had always been honest. And even through layers of clothing Quinn was positive she could feel Rachel’s racing heart and she knew it was the most beautiful thing she had ever felt. And then Rachel’s hand was on her neck and she was asking for permission with her eyes and Quinn didn’t have time to think or take a breath. She only had the briefest moment to remember Brittany telling her to be brave. So she leaned in and kissed Rachel. She kissed her the way she always dreamed of. 

And it was everything. It was lips and tongues and teeth. Quinn was reminded of that warm-up Rachel use to make them do, “The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue, the tip of the tongue, the teeth, the lips.” It sang in her head over and over again as Rachel breathed new life into her lungs and tangled her hands in her hair and rolled herself on top of her.

It was beautiful and she was sure this was what people meant when they said things like “walking on air.” She never knew that it actually meant the pressure of another body on top of hers, or the burn of lips against her own, or the softness of cold hands against her cheek.

She never knew that “walking on air” was that feeling of the cold ground at her back and the sight of the starry expanse overhead and the sound of Rachel’s breath mixing with her own. She hadn’t realized it could mean being pressed into the Earth. Being grounded. Being fully connected to another person.

Rachel was the first to break the kiss. She hummed as she pulled away from Quinn, hands playing with the hair at the base of her neck. Quinn tried to map it all out. Rachel on top of her, her legs lazily entwined with her own, bodies as close as the pages in a book.  

They didn’t speak for the longest time. They just stared into each other’s eyes.

“You’re getting your coat dirty,” Rachel said finally.

“It doesn’t matter,” Quinn said, brushing a finger over where a tiny scar disappeared into Rachel’s hairline. “How did you get this?” she asked.

“I fell off the monkey bars in the second grade,” Rachel breathed.

“I’ve wondered that for 10 years,” Quinn whispered.

A slow smile spread across Rachel’s face. It seemed to say, “No one has ever thought to ask me that simple question.” She recaptured Quinn’s lips. This time the pace was slower. Quinn thought of the swings at her old elementary school and the way they would fly back and forth easily, taking her stomach away and making her feel like she was flying. This second kiss was like those swings. Perpetual and steady.

Rachel pulled away.

“We should probably go before that cop comes looking for us,” Rachel said reluctantly.

“Probably.” Quinn was reluctant to move from that spot on the little hill behind the tennis courts. She was reluctant because from there the bullets that were flying over the trenches looked more like shooting stars and the explosion of bombs and mortars looked like the protective glow of a full moon.  

Rachel stood up and helped Quinn to her feet. She brushed off Quinn’s back where blades of grass had stuck to her coat. Quinn could see that Rachel’s jeans were covered in dirt where her knees had pressed into the earth, but Rachel didn’t seem to care. She grabbed Quinn’s hand and dragged her back to the car.

They drove home, hands still clasped. Quinn thought of ropes that bind and ropes that save and ropes that trap. She didn’t concern herself with the difference.  

Rachel pulled up to Quinn’s house and Quinn worried about the protocol. She wanted to kiss Rachel goodnight, but she didn’t want to be presumptuous.

She turned to the girl.

But Rachel was already ahead of her. She tucked a strand of Quinn’s hair behind her ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Rachel said.

She had always secretly loved it when Rachel called her pretty in high school. Pretty was good. Beautiful was too much pressure and a lie hidden deep inside. Pretty felt like something Lucy could have had too, so the words didn’t weigh down her soul. Hearing Rachel say the words now, Quinn almost believed them.

Rachel leaned in, her lips ghosting over Quinn’s.

“I’m having my annual “Thanksgiving Break Glee Reunion Extravaganza” tomorrow night. You should come,” Rachel whispered in-between kisses.

Quinn agreed before she even fully processed what Rachel had asked.

“Okay,” she said.

Reluctantly they pulled apart.

“Good night Quinn,” Rachel said.

“Good night Rachel,” she replied before getting out of the car.

She turned around to walk in the house, but then she remembered that she had to be brave. She turned around and ran back to the car. She went to Rachel’s window and motioned for her to roll down her window.

Rachel gave her a curious look.

Quinn leaned through the opened window and kissed her deeply, running her hands through silky hair while she thought over and over again, “You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful. You should know you’re beautiful.” It wasn’t the time for her to say it out loud – she wasn’t that brave. But she was brave enough to kiss Rachel like she meant it. Quinn pulled away breathlessly.    

Rachel beamed. Quinn stood in the street as she drove away.  

*****

Quinn walked up the stairs and saw that Chris was just making his way into Frannie’s old room. He was eating a cookie and had a glass of milk in hand. He stood and stared at Quinn as she walked to her door across from where he was standing.

He nodded at her and she knew she must look windswept and wild.

He took a long sip of milk. When he moved the glass away from his mouth Quinn had to laugh.

She motioned with her hand, “You have a milk moustache in your beard moustache.”

He motioned with his hand, “You look like you’ve been making out in the woods.”

Quinn blushed. Chris smiled and took a step across the hall to pull her into a hug.

“You look happy,” he whispered. “You look so happy.”

He moved back to the door. He held up his half eaten cookie and pointed it at her.

“This will be our little secret, okay?” he said as he opened the door and slipped into the room.

Quinn was giddy as she walked into her room.

She felt happy. She felt so happy. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Saturday’s child works hard for his living._

Over the course of the night Quinn’s giddy high that came from the feeling of Rachel flowing through her veins was replaced with a frightening tempest of regret. What had she done? The question echoed as anxiety filled her heart and pressed her deeper and deeper into the mattress.

She tried to sleep and put the thoughts out of her mind, but she could not shake the feeling that she had made a huge mistake. Her stomach was tied in knots and she felt nauseous, like she was about to careen over the edge of something. Her heart pounded and no matter which way she tossed and turned in bed the sound thundered in her head.

“What did you do?” her drumming heart asked her over and over again. She put her head under the pillow to drown in out, but the sound just intensified with her ear to the mattress. 

She knew this feeling. This was the familiar pain of stretching out a hand and trying to grasp at words spoken and kisses stolen, all in the futile attempt to take them back. She felt the agony of secrets slipping away from her.  

Stretched out in her bed she could feel the sharp edges of the box growing in her chest as she replayed the night in her head. She took her hand and made a fist on her forehead. She beat a steady tempo there in time to her heart. Her whispers of, “stupid, stupid, stupid” punctuated each beat.   

Around four o’clock in the morning she gave up trying to sleep in favor of pacing the floor. Back and forth, back and forth she walked, searching for some clarity. Searching for some relief from the quiet whisper that had started in the back of her brain.

“What did you think you were doing?” the voice asked dangerously. “What did you think was going to happen?” it repeated as she crossed and re-crossed the room.

What _did_ she think was going to happen? She hated the way time and distance always cast such an unflattering light on her decisions.

Why had she kissed Rachel? Why had she let Rachel kiss her? Why had she thought it was a good idea to let Rachel in? To let anyone in for that matter? Why had she even bothered coming home?

She could trace back the line of missteps. She could see the way it tangled from Ohio to Connecticut to Massachusetts and back again. She could clearly point out all her mistakes and imagine how a different choice would have untangled the mess. 

The more she thought about it the more she realized the problem was letting people in. That was where she always went wrong. She thought about college and the class she had taken about early civilizations. She remembered learning how the pharaohs killed those who built secret chambers in the pyramids, ensuring that they remained secret. Letting people in, telling them her truths was like letting them loose in her own personal pyramid. She knew the anxiety she felt now was just that space between the relief of sharing, and the torment of watching people walk away with her secrets and the need to stop them.

That anxiety was never far off. It was that feeling that accompanied coming out to herself. And coming out to Santana and Brittany. And Frannie. And her mother. It was the feeling that only allowed her to come out to one friend in college. It was the feeling that held her tongue when she thought about coming out to her law school friends at all.  

Letting people in was lighting a match in a dry forest. You tell them your secrets and then you watch everything burn around you – she had seen that firsthand. Quinn could feel the burn area growing now. She struggled for containment. She always struggled for containment.  

She tried to distract herself from this thought. She looked around for something to do, something to keep her busy. The small pile on her desk caught her eye. She was once again drawn to the pieces of the photo on her desk. She decided she would fix it.

She opened a drawer and scavenged for glue or tape or something to undo the damage she had caused. She doubted glue or tape would be enough – but it was a start.

She sat down at the desk and worked furiously trying to fit the pieces together, to mend the past. Nothing fit quite right. Nothing fit the way it did the first time. She knew it was a mistake trying to fix any of it. But for 40 minutes she struggled and at last she had put the photo back together.

She squinted at her handy work in the dim light of her room. The photo was now creased, and jagged lines fractured the image. None of it was right, so she furiously tore it up again. She couldn’t figure out the point to fixing something if it was still damaged in the end. And then she realized she might as well be talking about herself.

She crawled back into bed and waited for dawn. She waited for its creeping fingers to pull away the darkness and take with it all her regret about the past two days. About the last week. The last year. Hell, about the last decade. But as with every day the relief never came.

She fell asleep thinking of trenches and being wrapped in Rachel and how it was starting to remind her of being held down by barbed wire.   

*****

A little later she awoke to the sound of people in the hallway. She got up from bed and walked to her door. She opened the door a crack and peeked out. Her sister and Chris were dragging their bags out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

“You going?” Quinn called to them.

Frannie turned around. “Yeah.” She turned back around and disappeared down the stairs.

"Do you think you can help me outside?” Chris asked.

“Sure,” Quinn replied. “Just let me throw on some shoes.”

Quinn turned back into her room and slipped on her sneakers. Rachel’s OSU sweatshirt hung from the back of her chair. She grabbed it and threw it on.

She walked down the stairs and could hear Frannie and Judy talking in the kitchen. She saw Frannie’s suitcase sitting by the front door so she picked it up and lugged it outside to where Chris was packing the car.

“Here,” Quinn said handing him the suitcase.

“Thanks,” he huffed as he picked up the heavy bag. “What has she got in here?” he complained.

Quinn just shook her head. Frannie had always been a heavy packer. Her greatest fear was that she would forget to pack something she needed.

Chris closed the trunk and leaned against the car. Quinn did the same. They stood like that watching the empty street.

Quinn could feel Chris turn to look at her, but she didn’t move. His eyes bore into the side of her head.  

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” Chris commented, turning away again.

Quinn hummed in agreement. She could feel it in her bones, the way the moisture in the air seemed to settle in her joints and then her heart. Before the rain the air always reminded her of swimming – of being suspended and weightless.  

“I get it, you know?” Chris said. “Frannie’s filled me in on everything over the years and I get it. Don’t hate her because she has trouble relating sometimes. She just hates the conflict, you know?”

“I don’t hate her,” Quinn said quietly.

“She thinks you do. It’s just something to think about,” Chris said the words carefully.

“I don’t hate her,” Quinn repeated. “I just hate him and what he turned us all into,” she let that last thought hang in the air.

Chris pulled her into a hug.

“I love you Quinn, you’re the little sister I never knew I wanted,” he said from above her with a smile in his voice. “I see you and I,” he hesitated, “I just want to be a good dad.”

Quinn pulled back from Chris. She could feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes. They threatened to spill over. They felt like rain but she knew it shouldn’t rain until later. She looked at the trees and the way the dead leaves clung helplessly to the branches. She wondered what they would do when the rain finally came.

Chris broke the silence. “You didn’t go to Ohio State,” he laughed.

Quinn looked at him and then down to where he was pointing at her sweatshirt. She rolled her eyes.

“I borrowed it from a friend,” she said.

Chris cleared his throat and stifled a laugh. “Same friend who made you come home looking like the wild woman from Borneo last night?”

Quinn couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She slapped his arm playfully.

“I thought you said that was our little secret?” she asked.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you crap about it,” he said giving her a small nudge.

From behind them the front door opened and Frannie and Judy walked out of the house. Judy’s arm was lovingly slung around Frannie’s shoulder.

They walked up to the car and Frannie threw her purse inside. Judy gave Chris a hug and Quinn could hear her tell him something about “taking good care of her daughter and her grandbaby.” The words made her feel nothing, and she smiled at that.

Frannie approached Quinn. Cautiously she pulled her into a hug.

“See you later sister?” she asked tentatively.

Quinn nodded against her shoulder.

“Lulu? You should call me. Any time, okay?” Frannie said haltingly.  

“Sure,” Quinn murmured in response. The girls separated and Quinn looked awkwardly at her shoes. Frannie hadn’t called her Lulu since they were children. She could feel her childhood rushing to the shore like a tidal wave.

“Bye Quinn,” Frannie said, pushing the wave back out to sea.

Quinn and Judy stood side by side as they watched the car back out of the driveway and into the street. Judy waved as they drove off.

“Well looks like it’s just us,” Judy said sadly once the car was out of sight. She slung her arm around Quinn’s shoulder and Quinn felt its weight. She wondered if it felt as heavy to Frannie. She wondered if the gravity of an arm felt the same on everyone? A crushing pressure from above. That always made her think of God and smiting. She wondered if other people thought these thoughts, or if it was just her.

*****

The rain started around four o’clock. The _pitter-patter_ of raindrops drowned out the silence of the day. For hours Quinn moved like a ghost from room to room, watching the rain as it ran in rivulets down the smooth panes of glass. She wondered if the raindrops ever wished they were more – like a river or an ocean. She wondered if they ever felt inconsequential.

Suddenly she wished she would be forgotten about. She wished she could just flow down a pane of glass and disappear into the ground. Absorbed. She wanted to be absorbed. She felt a shiver run up her spine.

Judy called her from the kitchen. “Quinnie, do you think you can help me with these Thank You cards?”

Without answering her, Quinn got up from the couch in the den and walked to the kitchen. She was a ghost passing between walls. The thought thrilled her for a second. She sat down across from her mother. She hated how quickly life returned to a point of equilibrium. She hated how easy it was for her mother to forget while she was forced to remember everything.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

Judy handed her a handwritten list.

“These are the people I’m sending cards to,” she pointed to the list that had thirty or so names on it. “Here’s an example,” she handed Quinn an already-completed Thank You card. “Just sign it from the Frabray Family,” she explained. “Start here with Linda,” Judy said.

“Fucking Linda,” Quinn thought to herself as she grabbed a blank card and copied down what Judy had shown her.

“Dear Linda,” she scrawled, “Thank you for keeping our family in your thoughts and prayers during this trying time. Russell would have been so humbled by how you remembered him. Thank you for graciously bringing the family food and being such a great friend – we are truly blessed. God bless, The Fabray Family.”

She looked at the finished card. Linda would eat this shit up. She wanted to add a postscript. “P.S. Fuck you Linda for sucking up to a family in shambles. It means nothing.”

Her pen hovered over the card. She wondered if she could get away with adding it.

Would Judy ever find out? Would she care? Would she even say anything?

Quinn looked up at her mother who was busy writing a card to the Bishop. She was mouthing words before setting them down in permanence.

Her mom looked tired. Not just tired, but older, hardened somehow. She wondered if it was time that did that, or maybe it was the result of being married to Russell. Quinn felt a pang of sympathy for her mother who was carefully putting the card in an envelope. Her mother was so much like Linda. These cards actually meant something to her. She would probably like to get a Thank You card like this too.

That thought was enough to force Quinn’s pen to the table. She hastily slipped the card into its envelope and quickly scribbled Linda’s address on the front.

“Who’s next?” she asked her mother.

Judy consulted the list. She checked off Linda’s name and glanced at the column of names.

“Why don’t you write one for that friend of yours,” she said distractedly. “That Rachel girl who sang at the church. Make sure you write about how many people complimented her voice,” Judy added quickly.

Quinn stared at the blank card in front of her.

Maybe it was easier to start with the envelope. She wrote out Rachel’s address from memory. She thought of driveways and trees that stood watch and clocks that ticked like metronomes.

Quinn half-listened to her mother talking about a woman who had come to the funeral all the way from Nebraska. She turned to the card and let her pen float across the blank space, drawing lines that became words and words that became thoughts – honest thoughts. She read over what she had written. She knew that “Thank Yous” should be honest, so she scribbled out the lies and sketched in the candor instead.

The finished card was a mess of pen strokes. She hid it in its envelope and set it to the side to throw out – that’s what she did with honesty.

The doorbell rang.

“Quinn, can you get that?”

Quinn went to the front door and slowly opened it. Freaking Linda was there with a casserole dish in hand.

“Hi there Quinn,” she said perkily.

Quinn only had time to half-heartedly mouth “Hi,” but Linda didn’t seem to notice. She pushed past her into the house.

As she walked toward the kitchen she casually tossed behind her, “Your mom’s back here?”

“Come right in Linda. My mother’s in the kitchen, you can go right on through,” Quinn muttered to the open door before closing it loudly.

She walked back to the kitchen to find Judy and Linda cleaning off the kitchen table and setting out three plates.

“Linda made us dinner,” Judy said happily as she set out the utensils. “She’s going to stay and eat with us.”

Quinn rolled her eyes to their turned backs. Just what she needed, an awkward dinner with her mom’s bitch of a friend.     

Quinn went to the counter and grabbed a few napkins. She laid them out on the table and took her seat.

Quinn sat silently through dinner. She could feel Linda’s ice and venom lingering just underneath the surface of everything she said.

“Frannie is just the sweetest girl,” Linda said. Quinn knew that translated to “Quinn is terribly mean and cold.” (It had for years.)

"It was wonderful how helpful Chris was on Wednesday,” Linda said. Quinn knew that translated to “How nice was it that Chris drove your rude daughter home after she missed her father’s burial.”

“Did you have a nice Thanksgiving Quinn?” Linda asked. Quinn knew that translated to “I spoke to your mother yesterday and she told me that you embarrassed her by making a drunken scene at Thanksgiving.”

Quinn sighed and ate some more casserole. She begrudged Linda for her comments. Clearly Linda didn’t understand that by this point none of those things had happened. Quinn had a clean slate, Judy had forgotten all of her transgressions and they would ignore the heaviness in the air like they always did.  

When they were finished with dinner the doorbell sounded again.

Quinn jumped up and ran to the front door. She opened the door and Santana and Brittany pushed their way into the house.

"Are you ready?” Santana asked as she turned to Quinn. “You are not wearing that to a party. I don’t care that it’s at Berry’s.”

Brittany grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs. Santana followed behind.

Once in her bedroom, Quinn asked, “What party are we going to?”

Santana crossed her arms and fixed her with a glare.

“Rachel’s Thanksgiving Break Glee Reunion Extravaganza?” Santana responded. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you forgot already.”

Quinn remembered Rachel asking her about that party in the car, but she had only said “yes” because her defenses were down and Rachel’s lips seemed to tease the breath from her lungs that formed the sound of the word. She had said “yes,” but what she had really meant was, “I would never survive something like that.”

She started shaking her head. “No. No, I’m not going to that,” she said as she moved over to her bed and sat down. “I don’t want to go.”

“Too late,” Santana said. “Rachel already texted me like five times today about making sure you’re there.”

"What’s the matter?” Brittany asked quietly. “Why don’t you want to go? Rachel said you told her you’d go.”

Quinn ran a shaking hand through her hair. This was how entire forests burned to the ground. She thought it was ironic that she couldn’t contain this blaze when it was pouring outside.

“I have nothing to wear,” she started.

“Wear what you have on,” Santana said.

Brittany looked up at her. “But downstairs you told her she couldn’t wear what she has on,” she said confusedly.

Santana huffed over to the bed and flopped down.

“It doesn’t matter what she wears Britt. That’s my point,” Santana clarified. “Why the change of heart Q?” she asked turning to Quinn.

"I just don’t want to go. I don’t want to see those people.”

"I resent that. I am _those people_ ,” Santana said sharply with a glint of humor in her eyes.

“Did something happen? With Rachel?” Brittany asked.

Quinn fell back on her bed between her two friends. She stared at the ceiling and wondered why she was expected to spill her guts all the time. She just wanted to lock her thoughts in her head. She didn’t want to give them to others. She didn’t want to trust that others would protect them.

“Something happened then?” Brittany asked, staring down at her curiously.

Santana laughed. “Great poker face Fabray.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Quinn said harshly. She closed her eyes and thought about disappearing. She wondered which magic words would take her away.  

“You don’t have to,” Santana said kindly.

“But, you promised you would go, so you have to,” Brittany said. “Or else what good is your word?”

Quinn opened her eyes. Santana was looking at her thoughtfully.

“Did you kiss her?” she finally asked.

Quinn felt the blush steal into her cheeks before she was able to answer with a deflection.

Brittany shrieked. “I knew it! You owe me ten bucks Lopez!”

Quinn smiled shyly. She didn’t even care that her friends had made a bet on her because this felt like friendship. Friendship for the price of a $10 bet and the value of all your secrets. She let a shiver pass as she thought about the price of letting go and the price of holding on.   

*****

An hour later the three girls arrived at Rachel’s house just in time to be fashionably late for the party. Cars were lined up like soldiers outside the house. Quinn felt her anxiety shoot through the roof as she contemplated what it meant to actually go to Rachel’s party.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see Santana looking at her.

“You are not drinking tonight,” she said sternly. “We’re not having a repeat of the other day, okay?”

Quinn nodded. She was never drinking again. Thanksgiving had been a miscalculation.

“If this gets to be too much, or if it’s lame like it is every year we can just leave,” she added.

“Don’t let her fool you Quinn, she loves this party,” Brittany giggled from the backseat.

“I’ll be fine,” Quinn said as lightheartedly as she could muster. “Let’s just get inside before the rain starts up again.”

The three girls got out of the car and walked up to the front door, the pavement glistening under their feet, still wet from the rain.

Santana opened the door.

“Shouldn’t we knock first,” Quinn asked.

“We never knock,” Brittany said. “Everyone’s downstairs.”

And then Quinn finally realized that this party happened every year – had happened every year. And her friends had been part of that history, and she was once again on the outside looking in.

Brittany was the first inside. She carefully wiped her feet and took off her coat, throwing it onto a pile that had formed on the couch.

Quinn thought the pile looked like a person asleep. It’s what she thought she must have looked like sleeping next to Rachel on that couch. She took off her coat and placed it over the phantom body like a blanket.

Santana pulled her toward the basement door. Quinn could feel the knots forming in her stomach. She stopped her friends.

“Just don’t say anything please,” she rushed out.

“About what?” Santana asked. “Making out with Berry?”

“Any of it,” Quinn said. “Just don’t say anything about anything.”

Santana and Brittany just looked at her.

Brittany put a reassuring hand on her forearm.

“Okay. No one’s going to talk about you,” she said.

Santana nodded, but Quinn still felt sick to her stomach. Brittany ushered her to the basement stairs.

“Come on,” she said.

They walked down the stairs, and the closer they got to the bottom, the more Quinn could feel her heart pounding out of her chest and her stomach tangling into more of a knot. She felt dizzy from her nerves. She could hear voices and music from below.

Brittany and Santana reached the floor before her. She could hear someone shouting Brittany’s name. It sounded like Mike. She could see someone grabbing Santana and pulling her into a hug. It looked like Mercedes.

And then Quinn reached the last step and she just stood there in the shadow of the stairs and looked at the scene in front of her. It reminded her of a pictorial tableau. Like _Nighhawks_ or something. She was staring through a window and wondering what they were talking about, but she couldn’t hear anything. She watched them. Mike, sitting next to Tina, sitting next to Mercedes, standing next to Kurt, standing next to Finn, standing next to Mary, standing next to Puck, standing next to Artie, sitting next to Rich, sitting next to a stranger. And then as quickly as she saw their exuberance at welcoming Santana and Brittany she saw their curiosity at her presence in the corner.

And when they all silently turned to face her she was sure this was what it felt like to face a firing squad.

With one look she knew that they had all just been talking about her. She remembered the feeling from when she was a pregnant, entering a room and silencing conversations about herself with a single glance.

She knew from Kurt’s raised hand to his mouth, Tina’s turned head, Mary’s hand on Finn’s arm, Artie’s slight blush. The clues were undeniable.

She was the elephant in the room.

And then all of a sudden the freeze frame restarted. Rachel appeared and gave her a hug, and she wasn’t thinking about the awkwardness of seeing the girl after the previous night because Rachel was pulling her into the center of the room and introducing her to Mercedes’ fiancé, Wayne, and making her forget that she was the elephant, and making everyone else forget too.

*****

Before too long everyone was on their feet dancing, hugging, singing, drinking, reminiscing. She carefully observed them and imagined she had blended right into the sofa and no one would care that she was studying them from the side of the room.

Quinn watched as Mike twirled Tina around, and Brittany wheeled Artie in a circle. She watched as Finn laughed with his wife and high-fived Mercedes’ fiancé. She watched the easy interactions and thought sadly that she had never been able to figure that out.

They filtered over to her on the couch, having conversations with one another, but never risked saying anything directly to her. In their own way they included her without including her. So she sat and listened as their words flew around her head. She listened as Tina and Mercedes talked weddings, and Mike and Wayne talked football. She learned that Kurt lived in New York City and worked for a designer. She overheard that Finn and Mary had met when Finn was stationed in Japan and they were now expecting their first child. She watched as Rich casually told Santana he was now comfortable with his pansexuality and that she was the reason he had been brave enough to come out in college. She watched as Artie explained his job in paralysis research to Brittany.

She drew lines in her head between all the connections and pretty soon the room was a web of small talk and big talk and drunk talk. 

Rachel sat with her from time to time, making sure she had a non-alcoholic beverage and making sure she was having a good time.   

“This is fun, right?” she asked with a small laugh. She sat an appropriate distance from her and Quinn was sure no one would know that anything had passed between them the night before. She silently thanked Rachel for that.

Quinn felt the urge to reach out and touch her though. To move her hair out of her face or something, but she kept her hands firmly closed around her empty cup.

“Oh you’re out of cider,” Rachel said. She grabbed the empty cup, her hand brushing Quinn’s for the first time that night. “I’ll get you some more.” She disappeared across the room.

From behind her she felt a body moving up to her and she knew this was it.

“Hey Quinn,” Puck said shyly.

She turned around.

“Hi,” she said.

He nodded slowly.

“You disappear for years and that’s what you say?” he said. “Sorry,” he said. “That came out wrong.”

“That’s alright,” she said. “I know I deserve it.”

“Where have you been?” he asked softly.

“Boston,” she answered simply.

“You just disappeared. I mean one day we’re going to visitations together and then the next day you don’t return my calls and you delete your facebook,” he said searching her face for something. She doubted he would find it. “What happened to you?”

She sighed. He wanted answers. But she didn’t have them. She didn’t know what had happened. Well she knew. She just knew that it couldn’t be summed up in a pithy statement that made sense to anyone. And she wasn’t sure she owed him an explanation or if she wanted to give him one.

“Santana told me you were in law school?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

She nodded in affirmation.

“Law school in Boston then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He smiled at her. And it was like a picture of how she remembered him, only now there was no Mohawk and now he was an adult with laugh lines and dress shoes.

“Still the smartest girl I know,” he said with a chuckle. “What are you at Harvard or something?”

“No, not Harvard,” she said. “Not even close.” She didn’t want to talk about school. She didn’t want to talk about her life. It just made her tired. And a little bit sad.

"Oh,” he said awkwardly. He perked up as he thought of something. “You need a drink,” he said.

“It’s okay. I don’t drink,” she said as she reached out to stop him from looking for a drink.

As soon as she said it she regretted her words. She could see his face fall and she knew how that sounded to him.

"It’s not because of you,” she said too fast. She took a breath. “I just don’t drink anymore. It doesn’t mean anything,” she tried to explain.

From the look on his face she knew her words were not enough.

He smiled quickly and patted her hand that was still on his arm. “No problemo Q, I get it.”

But he didn’t.

She struggled to find something to say.

“So where are you these days?” she asked.

“San Diego,” he smiled at her. “I’m teaching guitar and surf lessons. I bartend on the weekends and I’m almost done with my business degree,” he said proudly. “Shelby even brought Beth out to Disneyland last year and I met them up there. Best day ever,” he rambled.

Quinn looked at him and then at everyone behind him as they danced and swayed. How had it happened that she was still the only one struggling to find an ounce of happiness? Suddenly she felt all that regret and jealously for the years that had passed as it churned in her stomach.  

She had always thought that by this point she would have something to be proud of. She had always imagined that she would have found a way to be comfortable in herself by this point. But still her skin felt too tight and her choices seemed misguided and the happiness always seemed too far away.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she said in a rush. “I’ll be right back.”

Quinn sped to the stairs and took them two at a time.

She made her way to the bathroom. If she could just hide in there for a few minutes and organize her thoughts and come up with a game plan she would be okay.

Sitting on the lid of the toilet with her head in her hands was not getting her anywhere though. She still felt like she was spinning out of control. She still felt like the storm was on its way. She listened to the rain as it fell outside and she knew she was right. She had to be.

She washed her hands to waste some time and took her time drying them off.

She walked back downstairs to an eerily quiet room. Everyone was huddled around the little stage at one end of the room.

Quinn watched as the group again became aware of her.

She was sure this was the firing squad.

This was her execution.

Rachel stepped forward.

“Quinn if you wouldn’t mind, please take a seat.” She pointed to a folding chair that was set up right in front of the stage. “We talked it over and we wanted to do something for you because we all know that you have had a somewhat unpleasant holiday week. We wanted to give you a gift that would be both uplifting and meaningful.” She turned around and grabbed a laptop that was on the stage. She opened it up.

“So with the help of a couple absent friends,” she turned the computer toward Quinn and there were Blaine and Sam via Skype, waving and smiling, “and a new friend,” she pointed at Rich who had an acoustic guitar at the ready, “we would like to present you with a New Directions oldie!”

She set the laptop down on a stool and she watched as everyone took their places. Mary and Wayne were sitting together on the couch up against the wall.

Quinn could feel the blood rushing to her face and she knew her embarrassment was obvious. And then there was a familiar bass line, and she could see that Rich was not the only one with a guitar. Puck and Artie were also strumming away.

They sang "Don’t Stop Believing" for her. It was rough and they were less coordinated now than they were 10 years ago. But it was full of joy and she never thought her heart could feel so full watching Puck attempt to remember choreography that was a decade old with a guitar around his neck, or watching Santana and Tina shriek in delight when they spun the wrong way, or when Finn actually remembered that they move on the second beat and he had to rotate Rachel so she would hit her mark. She laughed as Sam and Blaine sang along and bopped to the music through the computer. She felt full of joy and hope and love for this unlikely group of saviors delivering her a moment of grace in a time of need. 

She started to cry. She didn’t notice until she felt the wetness sliding down her face and she remembered it was raining outside, not indoors.

She cried and she realized that this was mourning.

She wasn’t mourning Russell though. She was mourning the girl she had once been. She was grieving for the girl who had once believed the words of Journey. She was crying for what could have been and what once was and what would never be again. She cried for Lucy and Quinn and her 18-year-old self and the 26-year-old who suffered because of them. She cried for the 16-year-old who had watched this song from a balcony with nothing but hate in her heart. She cried for that same 16-year-old who had not been able to tear her eyes away from Rachel. She let herself cry as she never had before.

They finished the song. The group looked on in silence. No one spoke. No one knew what to do. She realized then that no one had ever seen her broke open like this – with tears and violent sobs that contorted her body. That had always been her worry – that if she shattered no one would know how to put the pieces back together; no one would want to. That was why she had walls and masks and shields and deflectors. And that was why she cried now.

Brittany was the first one to make a move. She walked to Quinn and wrapped her arms around her. She didn’t say anything. She just hugged her. And Quinn cried even harder. She had underestimated her friends. She thought she was unlovable and unworthy of compassion and kindness so she pushed everyone away. She was St. Rose, punishing herself, denying herself. And all for what? To protect herself? To save her friends the challenge of understanding her? To save herself from having to look too closely at herself?

Santana walked over and put a gentle hand on her back. It wasn’t enough to stop the breaking though. Quinn crumbled like a sand castle at the mercy of an unrelenting sea.

“Should we, like, go?” she could hear Finn whisper to no one in particular.

Somebody shushed him. She thought it was Mary.

That brought Quinn back to reality. She realized that she was having a breakdown in front of an audience. Somehow that thought was too much for her so she stood up from her friends’ embrace and charged from the room, up the stairs to escape the stifling air of the basement.

She knew no one would follow. The thought was oddly comforting. It was like knowing that your clock was five minutes fast so you would always be on time. It was like a squeaky floorboard that you remembered to avoid.

She ran up the stairs and into the kitchen. She thought about going for a walk, but it was pouring outside and she didn’t feel like crying and getting soaked. She walked through the kitchen and to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. She sat on the third carpeted step and leaned against the wall, stretching her legs out.

Just then she saw a figure move in the darkened living room. She could see Rachel moving to the front door. She was dressed in a raincoat and had an umbrella in her hand.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked from the shadows.

“Jesus Christ,” she exclaimed, startled. “I was just going to find you.”

“Why are you dressed like Long John Silver?” Quinn tried to joke.

Rachel looked down at herself. “It’s raining,” she pointed out. She reached a hand into her pocket. “I have tissues too.” She handed one to Quinn.

“You know you’re allowed to cry, right?”

Quinn felt fresh tears roll down her face, she wiped at them with the tissue, but it wasn’t enough to stop them. Rachel squeaked up the stairs in her raincoat and lifted Quinn’s legs, setting them on her lap as she sat down with her.

“It’s okay,” Rachel said, rubbing her knee.

"I’m so stupid,” Quinn sobbed as she felt the emotion break through her walls. She took her legs from Rachel’s lap and set them on the step below her. She tried to huddle close to the wall to keep Rachel from seeing her like this. “I’m a stupid, stupid mess,” she said.

“Shh,” Rachel soothed. “You’re not. You’re fine. This is fine.”

“Everyone’s going to think –” she started.

"Don’t worry about them.” Rachel said it with such finality Quinn almost believed it was possible.

“I don’t want to talk.” Quinn felt the tears subsiding a little. She felt like if there was silence she could reign in the sobs and force the tears back.

“Okay,” Rachel said quietly.

They sat there in silence for a while as the sounds of the party picked up downstairs. The music started up and Quinn could hear shrieks of delight and laughter filter up from the basement. She had been forgotten and that was okay because Rachel was still here.

Quinn felt Rachel’s hand in her own and then she felt a gentle tug. Rachel was on her feet. She led Quinn up the stairs and away from the cacophony of sound threatening to spill over into their silent cocoon.

*****

Rachel closed the door behind them once they were in her room. She took off her raincoat. She sat Quinn down on her bed like she had on Thanksgiving.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” she finally whispered as she sat down next to her.

“It’s not your fault,” Quinn said, wiping at the tears that had formed and collected at the corners of her eyes. “It’s just me. I’m just being stupid.”

“Come here,” Rachel said, pulling Quinn to her as she leaned back against her headboard. “You’re not being stupid. It’s okay to cry. Healthy even.”

This just made the tears come more easily. She curled herself into Rachel and grasped at her shirt.

“It’s okay,” Rachel soothed into her ear as she stoked her hair and held her tight.

They sat like that for whole minutes. And for Quinn it felt like that closeness would tear her apart. So she cried harder. She cried and then there were lips and tongues and it was like the first night she kissed Rachel, only more urgent, like there was a deadline to be met, a timer running out somewhere.

The lips turned her sobs to moans and her tears dried on her face. She pressed herself into Rachel hoping she could get back that feeling of steadiness. It didn’t come though and she started to worry that this too was a mistake. She broke the kiss.

"I can’t do this,” she said.

Rachel brushed the hair from her face. “It’s okay Quinn. This is fine,” she comforted. She leaned up and brushed her lips over Quinn’s and then turned her over and there it was. That feeling of being grounded. With the pressure of Rachel’s body on top of her own she felt like her heart was being forced back into her body.

And then she felt hands under her shirt, caressing a path that blazed. It made her think of forest fires and containment.

“Wait, wait,” Quinn said. “This is – we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said lamely. “What about everyone downstairs?”

“They’re downstairs, they won’t come looking for us,” Rachel said. “And nothing has to happen. This is fine Quinn,” she said calmly.

“Okay,” Quinn said with a slow nod. And it was fine. Better than fine, even, to be with Rachel and to let her make the decisions for once. Rachel always made good decisions.   

Rachel slowly leaned in and kissed her again with a tenderness Quinn had never felt before. Rachel pulled back and looked at her, checking to make sure she was not out of bounds.

She leaned in and kissed her again and Quinn leaned into the touch. She decided that she would trust Rachel.

She remembered Rachel was a tugboat. And it was raining. A tugboat was a good thing to have in a storm. Or was it a lighthouse? She couldn’t remember because Rachel kissed her and returned her hands to their place on Quinn’s stomach, under her shirt. She felt as Rachel’s hands roamed and she thought of maps and how it always felt like she had been waiting for Rachel to do this. To discover her, to chart her.

And then Rachel was undressing her and she was shedding clothes like a snake sheds its skin and Rachel was undressed too and she knew that this must have been how that caterpillar had felt in the second grade when it came out of its cocoon. Oh to be a butterfly – that was its first thought. Then it thought of how the wind felt so much closer now that it could fly.

With Rachel naked on top of her she knew how that butterfly felt because Rachel felt closer than ever and Quinn was sure Rachel was the wind.

Rachel’s kisses wound their way down her neck, kissing and nipping and exploring.

Rachel’s hands moved lower and lower with her kisses, caressing Quinn’s skin as they went. 

It felt like going through and naming every wound she had ever suffered. A scratch on her elbow (Russell), a bruise on her knee (Beth), a scar hidden in her hairline (Lucy), a radiating pain in her chest (Rachel).

Rachel’s hands traced these invisible scars and Quinn could feel them burn until her body was on fire. She didn’t know that ghosts could do that – scorch and singe as they moved over you and through you.

Quinn moved her hands on top of Rachel’s and pushed them down, trying to stop the smoldering of her skin. And then Rachel’s hands had nowhere left to go and Rachel was looking at her, yet again asking for permission she had been unknowingly given years ago.

Quinn nodded quickly.

And then Rachel was in her and Quinn realized that she had it wrong. She had it so wrong. Rachel was not a ghost at all. She was flesh and bone and she was sweat and kisses and clumsy hands searching. And she was deep inside her, pulsing through her and resetting her heart to a new rhythm. A ghost couldn’t do that. A ghost could only float and chill and cry to the wind.

Rachel could unlock and revive. She was a skeleton key.

Quinn could feel that as Rachel teased and led her to that place where she could let go and let her in completely. She set aside her nerves and let Rachel lead her to the edge and give her that one push so that she would tumble over the edge and plummet down, down, down. But she was not afraid of the impact this time. She was not afraid of waking up.

With shaking hands Rachel pushed the hair out of her face again and kissed away the tears that had come like so many raindrops.

Quinn did not feel sad though. She felt absorbed, she felt anointed. She smiled through her tears and in one fluid motion rolled them over so that she hovered over Rachel. She thought she was a raincloud as she watched her tears splash onto Rachel’s chest, right next to her heart.

She placed her hand there and kissed her deeply. She let her hands wander and Rachel let her. She thought, of all the lands in all the world, Rachel was the most lovely. From the mountains to the plains to the valleys to the oceans, she was the most worthy of exploration. She thought of all the places she had ever been Rachel was the closest to home.

Rachel moved her hand and Quinn tried to push her nerves out of her mind and focused on guiding Rachel to that same wall she had tumbled over, that same wall from all her dreams. Her fingers awkwardly pressed into Rachel and she could feel Rachel and the way her legs wrapped around her back and the way her hands grabbed onto her hair. She brought her face closer to Rachel’s and whispered in time to Rachel’s murmurs and sighs.

“I think you’re the rain,” she whispered.

She listened as Rachel’s body took in the words that she had waited a lifetime to say.

“I think you’re the perfect blade of grass, and you remind me of an ocean breeze and the fall.”

Quinn pulled Rachel closer to her, in time to her beating heart. Quinn forgot about all the other nights with nameless girls and memorized this moment with Rachel. This clumsy and rushed and uncoordinated moment with Rachel. It was grace incarnate.

“You’re a morning glory,” she said as she felt the wall finally crumble and she felt Rachel tumble down with it.

She looked at Rachel as she tried to catch her breath and Quinn could see where the tears had trailed down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn repeated as she tried to wipe them away.

Rachel just shook her head self-consciously. And Quinn thought this was the worst possible reaction Rachel could have to having sex with her for the first time.   

Quinn sat back on her heels and looked at the girl, fear painted across her face.

What had she done? Why had she said those things? Why had she thought this was a good idea?

Outside the rain pelted the house and seemed to give sound to Rachel’s tears.

After a minute, Rachel opened her eyes and looked at Quinn. She reached out a hand.

“Come here,” she whispered. “I’m fine. Just come here.”

Quinn curled up next to Rachel, her head on her shoulder. She listened to Rachel’s heartbeat as it cut through the rhythm of the rain. She had been right the night before, it was the most beautiful sound – especially now as it beat a frantic pace against Rachel’s ribs.  

“Wow,” Rachel said, hands tracing along Quinn’s back.

Quinn looked at her.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“What is this?” Rachel asked as her hands continued their movement. Quinn thought of the scars from her car accident, but then she remembered the tattoo that disguised them and covered her back.

“It’s a work in progress,” she answered.   

Rachel’s fingers mapped the lines that formed a tangle of blue morning glories up her spine and across her shoulder blade. It had started as a cover-up for the impulsive Ryan Seacrest tattoo she had gotten in high school, and had turned into the most personal thing she owned.

“What kind of flowers are they?” Rachel whispered.

“Morning glories,” Quinn answered.

Rachel furrowed her brow. “Oh,” she replied.

The rain filled the silence.

“Before,” Rachel started quietly, “you said something about morning glories.”

Quinn took a deep breath. She knew what Rachel was thinking.

“Yes. You remind me of morning glories,” she said with some trepidation.

She could feel Rachel tense, so she turned over to look her in the eye.

“You remind me of them, but my tattoo is not for you, or because of you,” she tried to explain kindly. “You remind me of them, but a lot of things remind me of them.”

Rachel nodded in understanding. “They’re beautiful,” she finally said.

Quinn could only smile at her.

“They are. When I was little my mother would grow them every summer. That was how I knew the summer had come – we would have this web of morning glories that climbed up the side of the house,” Quinn whispered into Rachel’s collarbone. The noise of the rain made her feel safe telling Rachel these things.

“Morning glories open in the morning. It’s like they want to greet the day or something. When I was a kid I would try to wake up early enough to see them unfurl with the sun, but I never got up in time. I always overslept and missed it somehow,” Quinn said, lost in thought for a second.

"When we moved here my mom stopped planting them, so I ran out of chances to see them bloom like that,” she said. “But to this day they remind me of summer, and that old house and feeling,” she sighed, “just feeling happy even if it was only for a few hours.”

Rachel was staring at her with a smile on her face.

“And I remind you of that?” she asked shyly.

Quinn traced her cheeks with her thumbs and kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, you do.”

“And the tattoo reminds you of that?” Rachel asked.

“Yes. And it makes it so the outside matches the inside. It lessens the scars. I can look at it and I know which flower is Lima and which one is New Haven and Yale, and which one is Beth and which one is Lucy. It’s my own map so I can sort everything out,” she finished quietly.

Rachel looked intently at her. Quinn started to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. She was searching for something. Quinn wondered why people always searched for something in her face. But then Rachel broke into a bright smile and for the first time she thought someone had found what they were looking for.

“It’s perfect,” Rachel said.

Quinn looked at Rachel’s alarm clock on the nightstand. It was after 1 AM. She became conscious of the party downstairs.

“Should we go back to the party?” she asked awkwardly.

“No, not if you don’t want to,” Rachel answered, pulling her closer. “They’ll be fine for one night. We can just stay here and sleep.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Quinn said sheepishly.

Rachel smiled. “Okay, then we won’t.” She thought for a second and Quinn watched as the flicker of an idea passed in her eyes. “We’ll stay up and wait for morning so we can watch the morning glories open,” she said quietly.

Quinn laughed. “There are no morning glories in November,” she said.

Rachel ran a hand past Quinn’s bangs, pushing them out of her face.

“Then we’ll just wait for morning,” she shrugged.

Quinn settled into Rachel. And settled into the night, and listened as Rachel started up a steady stream of conversation. She asked her questions about school and what her favorite food was and where she had travelled to and what her favorite movie in the last five years was. Quinn listened and she answered as best she could and Rachel didn’t push her for the answers she didn’t have.

And time ticked by silently and Quinn talked with Rachel into the morning. And together they waited for dawn to come and for the rain to stop and for the morning glories to bloom. 


	7. Chapter 7

_And the child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, and good and gay._

The rain stopped sometime during the night. It happened so suddenly and aligned almost perfectly with the moment that Quinn’s boldness gave way to shyness. So consecutively close as to be simultaneous, Quinn was certain the two events were linked.

Quinn was certain that the rain had some magical property that made her brave in a way she had never allowed herself to be. She was certain that it was the rain that made her feel safe enough to answer Rachel’s questions about her favorite songs, and remain in her bed until the morning came. Without the sound of the rain drowning out the voices in her head, the familiar feeling of dread crept into her heart and her lungs.

She stifled a yawn as Rachel continued to whisper into the early morning hours. Quinn could feel the butterflies in her stomach beating a nervous warning to her. She dreaded what would happen when the sound of Rachel’s voice finally trailed off and they were left in complete silence without the sound of the rain to keep them nestled in the night. She dreaded what would happen when the sunlight peeking through the blinds reminded them that it was most irreversibly morning.

There were no shadows to hide in anymore. Quinn had watched as Rachel’s form became clearer, more distinct, the closer the world spun toward morning. And perhaps that was why she was so shy now. She could finally make out the curve of Rachel’s shoulder and the rise and fall of her chest as she spoke. She was finally seeing and feeling what she had always denied herself. She could see the things that weren’t hers to have – not in the daylight.   

Quinn watched as Rachel stretched and yawned. Soft light peeked through the blinds, reminding her that the world kept turning even when you willed it to stop – especially when you willed it to stop.

“Wow, I think it’s morning,” Rachel said, looking toward the window.

Quinn hummed in agreement and then rolled onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling and waited for Rachel to say something else. She waited for Rachel to tell her about another family vacation, or that time her Daddy surprised her with tickets to the opera. She waited, but she figured Rachel had run out of things to say.

Quinn closed her eyes. She could feel the bed move as Rachel sat up, blankets pulled tight around her.

“It’s after 8 o’clock already,” Rachel said as she leaned over to check her alarm clock.

Quinn could feel Rachel shifting around on the bed. Even with her eyes closed she could feel that Rachel was looking at her.

"I should get up and see if anyone wants breakfast before I go to church.”

With that Quinn felt the balance of the bed shift as Rachel got up. She listened carefully to the sound of Rachel looking for clothes, getting dressed. She thought about opening her eyes and watching her, but then she thought better of it. The morning didn’t allow for obvious glances, not the way the night did.

She felt the butterflies in her stomach and they reminded her that she didn’t know what to do next so it was probably best to just keep still.

She waited until she couldn’t hear Rachel moving anymore and then she sat up and opened her eyes. Rachel was dressed in pajamas. She had folded up Quinn’s discarded clothes and they were in a pile on the end of the bed.

Quinn tried to quickly and quietly put on her clothes. Her hands fumbled nervously though and she could feel Rachel’s gaze boring into her back. She lost track of where Rachel was, but then she felt the bed dip. And then she felt a hand on her naked back. Fingers traced the familiar outline of her tattoo and then they were gone. But the fire they left blazed a path across her skin.

Quinn pulled on her sweater and stood up. Rachel stood up from the bed. Quinn counted her breaths. She got to five before she turned around to face her.

Quinn didn’t know what to say. She just knew that she was exhausted, but awake; uncertain, but never so sure.

Rachel studied her face, but unlike the night before, Quinn could see that she couldn’t find what she was looking for. Maybe it was masked by the morning sun. Maybe it had never been there to begin with. Maybe the shadows had tricked Rachel the night before.  

A soft knock at the door broke the moment. Quinn watched as the silence fell around them and shattered on the floor. She was sure she could see the pieces if she really focused on the individual threads of the carpet. Rachel sprang to action. She hopped over the bed and opened the door just enough. Just enough for Quinn to realize that this was their secret.

Quinn listened as Kurt’s muffled voice came through the door.

“Is Quinn in there with you? Santana’s freaking out downstairs,” he said.

“Yes, she is,” Rachel said, glancing over her shoulder at Quinn. She smiled. “We were just going to make breakfast.”

“Okay,” Kurt responded. “Is she asleep?” he asked curiously. Quinn could see him trying to push the door open a little more. “What’s with the bodyguard presence at the door?”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and get the coffee started,” Rachel brushed him off. “We’ll be down in a minute.” She closed the door on him.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel apologized.

Quinn shrugged. Kurt’s conjecture was the least of her worries.   

“Come on,” Rachel said. She reached out and grabbed Quinn’s hand. She pressed it reassuringly and then pulled her out of the room and down the stairs. It was the reverse of the night before. It was the fall to Earth after being shot into space. Re-entry they called it. Quinn thought it was just another word for the fear that the force of the drop back to the living would vaporize you, or the gravity of the world would crush you into the dirt.  That you would burn up before breathing again. That you would crash into the ocean and gravity wouldn’t help slow you down. It would just push you further into the ground until you disappeared completely into a smoldering tunnel that led to the center of the world.

Quinn feared all those things as Rachel led her downstairs.

*****

Rachel led her to the kitchen where everyone had gathered to nurse their hangovers. Rachel dropped Quinn’s hand once she crossed through the doorway. Quinn stood awkwardly against the wall. She watched as Rachel buzzed around the kitchen, prepping the ingredients for vegan pancakes.

And then Quinn caught Santana staring at her from across the room. Her expression was unreadable. Quinn expected her to turn away, but Santana held steady. Quinn watched as understanding washed over Santana’s face. She watched as Santana put the pieces of the puzzle together. She could see it in the way Santana looked from her to Rachel and back.

She knew Santana knew. She knew because Quinn was certain that her hair screamed sex and the blush on her face announced her embarrassment, and her eyes begged for a reprieve. And if Santana knew that, then so must everyone else too.

Quinn glanced around to the others to assess the situation, but she soon realized that no one was paying any attention to her. They were all too busy enjoying the morning.  

She turned back to Santana and noticed something else on her face too. Was it anger? Sadness? Disappointment? No. It was none of those things. It was worry – a look Santana rarely wore. But worry for what?

She pressed her back further into the wall. She thought that maybe if she tried hard enough she could pass right through it. Maybe she could float away, back to the safety and quiet of Rachel’s bedroom. She could hide there until all the faces and voices were gone and she could figure out what any of it meant.  

“How are you feeling this morning?” Mercedes’ voice brought Quinn back to the living.

“Fine. I’m fine,” she answered as calmly as she could. She looked nervously around the room. Kurt had perked up and was now listening to their exchange.

“We were all worried that you had left last night,” Mercedes went on. “You and Rachel never came back down to the party.”

Quinn caught Santana’s eye across the kitchen. Santana was listening too, her arms crossed and eyes boring into Quinn’s.    

“Yeah,” Quinn said.

“Hey Mercedes can you and Puck go grab some extra chairs from the other room?” Rachel called from the stove before Quinn could think of something more to say.

Mercedes dragged Puck from the room and Quinn turned in time to see Rachel throw a discrete smile her way.

And then they were ready to eat and Brittany pulled Quinn over to the seat she had sat in on Thanksgiving. But instead of sitting next to Beth and Rachel she was now squished in-between Brittany and Mercedes. The rest of the group sat around the table and began passing around pancakes and syrup and butter and coffee and juice. And it didn’t feel like Thanksgiving at the Berry house. It felt off and Quinn felt out of place. She imagined it was the same feeling that came before the Inquisition. It was the buildup to the fall.     

Quinn didn’t touch her pancakes. All she kept thinking was that somehow her night with Rachel was a dream come true and a huge mistake – that somehow the night had set off an alarm somewhere and the universe would step in and take it all away from her. She sat there listening to these people talking about how drunk they had gotten last night and who had drunkenly done what and said this or that to whomever, and all she could hear was the sound of that voice in the back of her head reminding her that she was leaving in less than five hours and that it had all been yet another miscalculation on her part.

“Quinn do you want me to make you eggs or something?” Rachel asked, concern in her voice.

Quinn looked down at her plate that still had two pancakes on it.

“No thanks,” she said quietly. “I’m not very hungry.”

“You’re not hung over, are you? I mean, you didn’t even drink last night,” Brittany said partially confused and partially hung over.

“Britt just leave her alone,” Santana whispered.

“I’m sorry if our singing really sucked last night,” Finn piped up. “I know it’s been a while.”

Quinn could see Mary lean over and whisper something to him, but she couldn’t make out what it was. All she knew was that he sat up in his chair a little and gave her a sheepish smile.

“We just kinda felt bad because you kinda bolted after the song and we didn’t see you again,” Puck offered, not quite making eye contact with Quinn.

"Yeah, what happened to you?” Kurt asked. “And Rachel?” Quinn could see in his eyes and the careful way that his tilted head rested on his hand that he was trying to pry in the most unobtrusive way possible.

Quinn tried to think of something to say to that. The truth was too unbearable and a lie would be too obvious.

"We talked,” Rachel answered as she started clearing dishes from the table.

Quinn caught Santana rolling her eyes and then she was certain that Santana saw through all of it.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” Puck said with a raised cup of coffee.

Rachel cleared her throat.

"I hate to cut this short, but I have to be to church for 10 o’clock,” she said checking the clock on the microwave.

“Wait, since when does a hot Jew like you go to church?” Puck asked incredulously.

“Since they pay me to sing,” Rachel answered pointedly. “You’d be surprised how easily talent can trump religion.”

With that the tension of the room dissipated. But Quinn could still sense Santana’s glare and Kurt’s curious expression as everyone helped Rachel clean up.

Before she knew it, almost everyone had left and she was standing at the front door with Santana and Brittany, poised to leave. Rachel stood across from them.

"Thanks again Rach for doing this,” Brittany said as she hugged her.

"Yeah Berry,” Santana said humorlessly as she gave Rachel an awkward hug.

“Thanks for coming guys,” Rachel said with a shy smile.

Quinn was waiting for them to open the door and walk to the car so she could have a moment to breathe and think of something to say to Rachel. But they didn’t move and then Kurt and Tina and Mike walked into the room and sat down on the couch, shouting their goodbyes to the group. And then Rachel reached a hand out and pulled Quinn into a hug and all Quinn could think was, “Please don’t kiss me.”

And Rachel didn’t. She just ghosted a whisper across her ear, “Good morning Quinn.” Her breath felt like a phantom kiss, and Quinn thought that would do. It would have to.

And then they left. It felt like a dream, Quinn was delirious from getting no sleep and they were walking down the front path from Rachel’s house and the door was closed behind them and she had no clue how she would get back to Rachel.  

When they got to the car Santana realized she had left her cell phone on the kitchen counter, so she ran back to the house to retrieve it.

Brittany turned around to look at Quinn in the back seat. Quinn was still studying the front door. She couldn’t understand how the night had turned to morning so quickly. She couldn’t understand how the early morning sunlight could chase her moments with Rachel away. She couldn’t understand what had to happen next.  

“Santana told me not to ask about Rachel,” she said.

Quinn turned to look at Brittany. She looked tired and hung over with puffy, bloodshot eyes.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Did she at least make you feel better?” Brittany asked, hugging the car seat to her.

“She tried,” Quinn sighed.

Brittany looked slightly perplexed at this and Quinn could once again see a mask of worry overtake yet another friend’s features.

“Don’t worry about me Brittney.” She gave Brittany her kindest smile, which only made Brittany look more worried.

“When you say things like that…” Brittany trailed off, leaning her head against the seat.

Quinn watched as the front door of Rachel’s house opened and Santana jogged out to the car, cell phone in hand.

“Ready?” Santana asked as she got in the car.

Brittany gave Quinn a sad smile and turned back around to Santana.

“Yeah, we’re ready.”

*****

Santana pulled up to Quinn’s house. The three girls sat quietly while the radio played.

“You’re going back to Boston today?” Santana finally asked, not bothering to turn around to look at Quinn.

“Yeah, my flight is at 2 o’clock,” Quinn responded.

They were quiet again.

“Okay well I should – ” Quinn started to say with her hand on the door handle.

“Wait Q. I just have something to say,” Santana said, turning around to face Quinn. Santana took a deep breath before she dove in. “Whatever happened last night…”

“It’s none of your business,” Quinn said brusquely.

Santana put up a hand. “And I’m not going to ask. Trust me, I can draw my own conclusions.”

Brittany whipped around at this. “Santana,” she scolded.

"I’m just saying that whatever happened with you and Rachel last night that kept you from coming back to the party,” Santana let that thought hang in the air, mixing with the strains of whatever late 90’s pop was playing, “whatever that was, I pray to God that…” She stopped and searched for words.

“You pray to God what?” Quinn asked impatiently.

“I don’t want this to be the start of another downward spiral!” Santana shouted, slamming her hands on the steering wheel. “Goddamnit Quinn.”

Brittany turned off the radio. Quinn could see her wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I’m going to repeat that last night is none of your business. What goes on with me and – it’s none of your business.”

Brittany was now crying more openly.

“I’m fine. I’m an adult and I know what I’m doing,” Quinn said frantically. She turned to Brittany. “I’m sorry, but I don’t need this. I have to go. I have to go pack or I’ll miss my flight.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She threw open the car door.

"I’ll call you,” she said over her shoulder as she ran to the front door.

“No you won’t!” Santana shouted out Brittany’s open window. The words followed Quinn to the front door. Quinn listened as the car peeled away from the house.

The ambush and the retreat. It was complete.            

*****

Quinn trudged up the stairs to her room. She opened the door and took in the disaster that she had made. She checked the clock. She had less than two hours before she had to leave for the airport.

She wanted to sleep, huddle into a ball and lose days, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to wait until she got back to Boston.

So instead she focused on what she could control. She took a shower in the hopes that the steam from the shower would offer some enlightenment or escape. She hoped that the water would wash away the bad parts and would leave the good parts fresh in her mind. Let the water take Russell and the anxiety of letting people in. Let her keep the feeling of Rachel’s hands and Rachel’s lips and electricity and release.

She got out of the shower and wiped away the condensation from the mirror. Looking at her reflection she saw that nothing had changed. The good and the bad were still mixed together – she could see it on her own face, in her eyes.

Quinn went to her room and picked through her exploded luggage for something clean to wear and then she focused on cleaning up the mess and getting herself packed for her flight.

She heard a knock on the door and turned around to see Judy standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Judy said.  

“I just got back a little while ago,” Quinn answered, folding up a sweater and throwing it in her suitcase.

“You went to a party last night?” Judy asked.

Quinn nodded in affirmation.

“I had hoped that you were going to be home last night so we could have dinner together. Get a chance to properly talk.”

With her back to her mother Quinn rolled her eyes. She and her mother had vastly different definitions of what constituted a “proper talk.”

“Sorry,” she said.

“Did you have fun?” Judy asked.

“Sure,” Quinn said shortly.

Judy nodded. She didn’t move from the doorway, her hand perched on the doorknob.

“I kind of have a lot to do here,” Quinn said, motioning to the room.

“I see,” Judy said. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

She closed the door quietly behind her.

*****

A little while later there was another soft knock at her door.

“Mom,” Quinn said impatiently, “I really don’t have time to talk right now.”

Quinn turned around to see Rachel standing in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her. She must have just come from church because she was wearing a dress.  

“Your mother let me in,” she said a little unsure. “If you’re busy – ”

“No, no come in.” Quinn rushed over to invite Rachel in and close the door. Quinn couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her heart raced but she felt calmer somehow.  

“Are you packed?” Rachel asked, looking toward where her suitcase was open on the bed.

"Almost,” Quinn responded.

“Well I won’t keep you,” Rachel rushed, and then she turned around to leave.

“Rachel?” Quinn reached out to stop her.

“I don’t know why I came over.” She shook her head.

"You’re freaking me out,” Quinn said trying to laugh.

Rachel looked up at her finally and then Quinn saw it. Something in Rachel’s face had changed. Quinn could feel the tidal wave rushing to shore. She braced herself for the impact.  

“I came here to apologize.” Rachel’s brows were knit as she studied the carpet in Quinn’s room.

“No,” Quinn said in disbelief.

“I prepared a speech, I just need you to listen to me.” Rachel took a deep breath and began pacing the floor. “I usually don’t listen much when I’m singing at church, but today the mass was about letting the truth set you free, and while the message was very facile and obvious, it struck a chord with me. I need to be honest with you – you deserve that much.”

Quinn tried to interrupt her, but Rachel put a hand up to stop her.

“I need to apologize for the past couple of days. I think I took advantage of you. Especially last night.”

“You didn’t,” Quinn reassured her.

“No Quinn, you were so vulnerable last night and I’m afraid I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserve.”

“Rachel it’s okay. You didn’t take advantage. I wanted to. I wanted you. I _want_ you,” Quinn said. It all rushed out, words tumbling one over the other. It was like they saw the chance to escape, to make it to the safe haven of Rachel’s ear, so they set to climbing over one another to make it out of Quinn’s brain and to her tongue and teeth and out her lips into the air.  

Rachel stopped pacing at that, her eyes wide.

“Wait I’m confused,” Quinn started, “you’re upset because you think you what? Took advantage? And I’m standing here telling you that you didn’t, but you’re still looking at me like that.” Quinn pointed to Rachel. “What am I missing?”

“Quinn,” Rachel said. “I just need to make it clear that…I’m trying to say that I’m sorry. I didn’t really see it till this morning. I think I was blinded by everything. I was so wrapped up in the whole thing. I mean it’s you Quinn. Head cheerleader Quinn Fabray was looking to me for something and I won’t lie and say that’s not flattering.” She was rambling now.

“So it was a pity fuck?” Quinn demanded.

“No,” Rachel was vehement. “I just think last night we got carried away and I wasn’t taking into consideration your feelings.” Quinn watched as Rachel’s hands moved through the air trying to lend clarity to her explanation. It didn’t work.

“My feelings?” Quinn asked bitterly.

“You’re going through so much and I wasn’t thinking about how you were dealing with the funeral and being back in Lima and seeing your daughter. I was just thinking about how in high school I would have killed to have you look at me the way you’ve been looking at me these last few days.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and she felt a tear make its long weary way down her cheek. She cursed her 16-year-old self who had set her up for this moment. A decade in the making and it all came down to who she was in high school.

“So what? You were trying to get back at me for high school?” Quinn tried to control her voice.

“No!” Rachel insisted. “I won’t deny that I’ve always been drawn to you, but I think part of me was thinking of you as high school Quinn. But you _have_ changed Quinn. You’ve changed so much and I just didn’t see it.”

Quinn never thought she would be so disappointed to hear someone say she had changed.

"So if I was still that version of myself we could have kissed and you wouldn’t come running to me to take it back?” Quinn choked out.

“I don’t know!” Rachel said abruptly. “It never crossed my mind. You hated me back then.”

Quinn laughed humorlessly.

“I never hated you. At first you annoyed me, then you amused me. And by that point it was too late. I already adored you.” She didn’t even bother trying to take back the words.

Rachel was stunned.

“Quinn I – ” Rachel started to cry. “I can’t do this. Quinn I really can’t do this. I’m so selfish. And you’re not…” she trailed off.

“I’m not what?” Quinn asked bitterly. “Your type?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just – I can’t be the one to fix you,” Rachel blurted out.

The room was silent. Quinn let Rachel’s words sink in to the center of her brain.

“Who says I need you to fix me?” Quinn asked, self-consciously. “Who says I’m broken?”

“Well Santana,” Rachel paused, “I just didn’t realize.”

“What did Santana say?” Quinn asked, starting to connect the dots.

“Nothing, she didn’t say anything. I just saw it this morning,” Rachel tried to explain.           

“I’m not asking you to fix me.” Quinn said, trying to calm herself down and slow Rachel down. “I know I’m – I know. Last night was…”

“Quinn it can’t happen again. You’re in Boston and I’m here.”

Quinn scoffed. “Is this you letting me down easy?”

Rachel took a step toward her.

“I’m trying to be honest with you! I don’t want to lead you on. I care about you Quinn, I always will. I’m just too selfish to be any good for you. At this point in my life I can’t fix you,” Rachel sobbed. “And in the interest of full disclosure,” she took a deep breath, “I have a boyfriend.” Rachel whispered the last part and Quinn’s heart disintegrated on the spot.

Quinn stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. She felt the tears stinging the back of her eyes and she didn’t fight them.

“Why would you…” Quinn was at a loss. “Why would you sleep with me if you have a boyfriend?”

“We’re not exclusive – not that that’s an excuse. But I’ve only been with him for a few weeks and it’s new – ”

“I don’t want to hear this.” Quinn put her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Quinn. I’m so selfish and I could never say no to you. All I ever wanted was your approval and –”

“So that’s a good reason to fuck someone?” Quinn asked harshly.

Rachel was visibly taken aback at this.

Rachel crossed the room and knelt down in front of her. “I don’t know why I did it. You have to believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. You’re just mixed up about how you feel right now because this week has been hell for you and I was just here and you’ll see. You’ll see…”

Quinn wasn’t sure what Rachel thought she would see.  

“Eight years,” Quinn said. “I’ve lo – I’ve felt this way about you for eight years.”

Quinn lifted her head and looked at Rachel. She could see her doing the math. Her fingers moved silently and her eyes betrayed her thoughts.

“You never said anything,” Rachel said sadly. She stood up. “You never even…we don’t even know each other anymore.”

“And eight years ago? How would it have been?” Quinn asked.

“What?” Rachel was pulled from whatever train of thought she was on. Quinn imagined she was replaying all their interactions from high school the same way she had for eight years.

“If I had told you, what then?” Quinn asked.

“Eight years ago…I don’t know…the whole world would have been different. Now it’s just one week that won’t be the same,” Rachel finally relented.

Quinn nodded to herself. She imagined that wherever Russell was he was enjoying this. It was probably his last gift to her. Drag her back to Lima, give her everything her heart had ever desired and then take it away from her in the most spectacular way possible.

“I think you should leave now,” she said quietly.

Rachel tried to collect herself and wipe away her tears.

“We can still be friends. I would actually really like to be friends,” Rachel begged with tears in her voice.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Quinn said, her voice breaking. “Don’t you get it? I never wanted to be your friend Rachel.”

“Okay,” Rachel said quietly, almost like she accepted that. “I’m sorry.”

“Leave Rachel,” Quinn said firmly. “Just leave!” she screamed when she saw that Rachel wasn’t moving.

Watching Rachel walk out of the room Quinn realized that this was how oceans were made. Not with raindrops, not even with tears. Oceans were made with space and silence. Oceans were made with bodies moving away from one another – continents and minds miles apart.

And Quinn thought that was the travesty – the natural disaster. She was the maker of oceans and continents.     

*****

The tears flowed freely when Rachel was gone. Quinn threw the last few things into her suitcase. She looked at the clock and saw that it was time to leave. She grabbed her bag and dragged it out of the room and down the stairs.

Judy was walking from the kitchen.

“Quinn is everything okay? I heard shouting,” she said, placing a worried hand on Quinn’s arm.

“Everything’s fine Mom,” Quinn responded, moving a shaky hand through her hair and discretely wiping away her tears.

Judy looked at her with concerned eyes.

“Did you get into a fight with your friend?” Judy asked carefully.

“She’s not my friend,” Quinn spit out.

“Oh,” Judy stammered confusedly.

Quinn moved toward the front door.

"I have to go now. I’m going to be cutting it close as it is.” Quinn moved to open the door.

Judy stepped toward her and pushed the door closed.

“Maybe you should calm down before you leave,” Judy suggested. “What happened?”

Quinn’s tears were a river, but they wouldn’t sweep her away.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I have to go.” Quinn tried opening the door again, but Judy placed herself between Quinn and the door.

“Don’t you think we should talk about what’s making you so upset?” Judy asked with tears in her eyes. “I hate to see you like this Quinn.”

Quinn felt the rage bubbling to the surface. She dropped her bag and took a step back from her mother, looking at her appraisingly.

“Really?” she asked. “You want to talk to me Mom? That’s a first.”

"Quinn please, I’m trying here,” Judy said sternly. “I’m trying to understand why you’re crying and why you’ve been acting like this all week.” Judy took a deep breath. “Is this about that Rachel girl? Is she…” Judy trailed off.

“Is she what Mom?”

“Is she…is there something…” Judy let the words just hang in the air.

Quinn stood looking at her mother. There was so much in those incomplete thoughts, yet she knew her mother would never voice them completely. Quinn decided to give her an out.

“This has nothing to do with Rachel,” she insisted. “Everyone’s right. It’s just me. I’m just being a bitch,” she spat out.

“Is this about your father?” Judy asked.

“Don’t call him that,” Quinn said darkly.

“Quinn I can’t help but think that your behavior this week has something to do with your father – ”

“My behavior this week? I’ve been like this for years! I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember and no one ever noticed.” Quinn couldn’t help but think of the one person who did notice, years ago.

Judy was crying now. “I don’t understand. I thought we moved past all that?”    

Quinn let a wry laugh escape between her tears.

"Really? How does that work – moving past all that? I was 16, Mom. You guys just kicked me out. Do you have any idea what that was like for me? I made one mistake. One stupid mistake and you guys made me pay for it. Didn’t you ever wonder where I was for six months? How could you do that to your child? How could you let him do that to me? The crazy thing is that I believed him for all these years. I believed that I was the big disappointment.”

"But he forgave you for that!” Judy cried.

“There was nothing to forgive! That’s not how this works. I wasn’t supposed to earn his love, it was suppose to be unconditional. It wasn’t supposed to come with terms and conditions!”

Quinn’s voice rang through the house. She could hear as her voice travelled up the stairs and down the hall and dissipated into the bedrooms. It was a sound that would rouse any ghosts and send them flying. Quinn half expected them to come charging down the stairs after her.

Judy sunk to the stairs sobbing. Quinn leaned her back against the front door.

“All I know is there is a little girl out there who looks like Lucy and smiles like Noah and talks like Rachel, and all because I had no choice but to let her go.” Quinn felt the warmth of tears cascading. She wiped them away. “And I am so thankful that she will never know Russell. And I am so thankful that she is nothing like me because I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Judy’s body shook as the sound of her crying filled up the front hall. Quinn sighed and pushed herself off the door. She ran a hand through her hair and absently wiped at the tears from her face. Then she pulled out her cell phone and checked the time.

“I have to go,” she murmured. “I’m going to miss my flight.”

Judy stayed on the stairs sobbing into her hands.

Quinn took the three steps over to her and knelt down in front of her. She didn’t know what to do.

Judy looked up at her. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. Judy pulled her into a hug and whispered this over and over again. Quinn thought it sounded like a ghost leaving the house or the wind through the trees. She couldn’t be sure what that meant though.

"I know,” Quinn whispered back into her shoulder. It was the sound of time surging forward. “Goodbye Mom.” 

*****

Quinn tried to compose herself as she drove the rental car back to the airport, but all she could think about were the confrontations she had had that day. She didn’t want to be the girl who cried in the car or at the airport, she knew she had to wait until she was back in Boston and she could hide away in her apartment for a week to sort out the mess she had made of things.

After an hour and a half of driving Quinn arrived at the airport. She returned the rental car and made her way to check her bag.

She was worn out. Worn out from crying, from staying up all night, from fighting, from feeling too much. It was funny that tired didn’t feel any different than how she usually felt.

She checked her bag at the counter and wondered if it was that easy to hand over all your problems. Rachel didn’t seem to think so, and Quinn had never seen evidence of real life being like that. Once she was without her suitcase she turned around to survey the madness of the airport. She thought of all the movies she had seen where the airport marked a satisfying conclusion to the story. Why couldn’t that be her life?

For a second she let herself think about what she truly wanted.

She wanted Rachel to come rushing through the automatic doors, frantically searching for her. She wanted Rachel to stop her from getting on that plane. She wanted Rachel to tell her that she was wrong, that they could figure this out together, that they could finally get it right.

Quinn thought about the power of prayer. She hadn’t prayed for anything in a long time. The last time she had prayed for anything she had ended up in a wheel chair. She had learned that the safest thing to do was never ask for anything at all.

But Quinn had never been strong when it came to Rachel, so she prayed.

She looked to the ceiling like she would when she was little and prayed and asked someone, anyone, to send Rachel to her.

She heard the sound of the door as it _whooshed_ open. Her eyes snapped to the spot as a young family walked through the door.

Life is not a movie. Quinn realized in that moment that the problem with prayer was that after a while you’re just standing there looking at the ceiling.

Trying to shake the sinking feeling of disappointment in her chest, Quinn tried to press the box in her chest back into place as she walked to security. Maybe she would ask them to confirm that there was in fact a box in her chest that was the cause of all her pain. Maybe she would ask them to confirm that her heart was no longer there – that it was in fact shattered in pieces on the floor of her childhood bedroom where Rachel had so completely dismantled it.

With one final look to the door Quinn kept these thoughts to herself as she moved on toward her gate.  

*****

Quinn didn’t know how these things ended. With a hug goodbye? With a flight that moved you back in time? With hasty words that transformed from air to solid and filled up the spaces so you couldn’t catch your breath?

Surely those things were enough to punctuate the end.

Flying across the burning sky Quinn thought of dying stars and the vacuums they leave. She could never do that to Rachel – turn her into a black hole. She was already responsible for so much. She couldn’t expect Rachel to stick around and help her fix everything. She would have to let her go.

Looking out the small airplane window Quinn thought of how useless that was. She hadn’t been able to let Rachel go in eight years. The night sky reminded her of Rachel. And the sound of water running reminded her of Rachel. The feeling of air in her lungs reminded her of Rachel. And then she realized being alive reminded her of Rachel and it probably always would.

Quinn leaned her head against the cool glass. She thought about how the more she fought to change her life, the more things stayed the same. Nothing ever changed anything. The butterfly, Russell’s death, Rachel’s kiss. None of it had changed anything, and she had expected more.

Quinn thought of the butterfly Lucy had cried over in the second grade. Lucy had been prepared for the magic of life. Lucy had anticipated the greatness that came with the magician’s reveal. Lucy had assumed that every end ran into the beginning of something better. Lucy had been so, so wrong.

The plane landed in Boston and Quinn made her way to the baggage claim area. She stood and watched as the carousel filled with suitcases and duffel bags and garment bags. She wondered what filled their insides – like people. What made them full? What secrets did they carry around? What heartbreaks lay hidden in their pockets?

And then she caught a flash of color in her periphery. A beautiful, bright, golden color. She turned and her heart filled.

It was purple hat lady.

Only now she was golden hat lady.

Quinn laughed in disbelief. For a second she contemplated that she was hallucinating the whole thing. But purple hat lady was there.

Quinn had it wrong. She didn’t live in Ohio. She lived in Boston. Quinn had gotten the story wrong. Purple hat lady didn’t live in Findlay in a cute little bungalow. She lived in Boston, or Massachusetts or something. Quinn had gotten it so wrong because going home and leaving and visiting all look the same inside an airport. 

How many other things had she been wrong about? How many coincidences had she just brushed off? Because when it came down to it, coincidence and fate and destiny and kismet all look the same. They look like chaos and tears and cruelty and happenstance.  

Brittany was right – sometimes things happen and they mean nothing. But that meant sometimes they meant something.

With the smallest of smiles directed at golden hat lady Quinn resolved to figure out a way to show Rachel it all meant something.

The first step had to be accepting that this was the end.

Quinn thought about that, she tried the words out.

“The end,” she said out loud into the chaos of the airport as she grabbed her suitcase off the carousel. She made her way outside to find a taxi.

As she waited for a taxi she looked up at the night sky and the stars that she could faintly make out within all the light pollution. She thought of how sailors would use the stars to find their way.

She thought of the oceans she had made and the peril of crossing them. She thought of Rachel. And she decided that she would have to find a way to cross them.

She remembered how her friend Dave had told her about burning ships. In undergrad he had been her best friend, but she hadn’t spoken to him in years. He told her that the explorers would cross oceans and then burn their fleet of ships so that they couldn’t return home, so they were forced to settle the new land and start a new life. This had struck her as an absurd notion. But he had assured her, “It’s not unreasonable Quinn. They burned their ships, they learned to live in a new land and then they built new ships – better ships to make the journey back.”

Quinn hadn’t realized it at the time but she had burned all her ships. She would need to build new ones.

But for now, this would have to be the end. It would be the only way to move on.

From the back of the taxicab she looked out into the night and thought of little girls crying over floating butterflies and wailing ghosts and pasts you couldn’t outrun. She thought about oceans that drowned you and cleansed you and moved you with a swirling tide. She thought of the maps she had made and how they always led back to Rachel. She decided that if ever there was a time to begin, it was at the end.  

“The end,” she whispered to herself. “Just let it be the end.”


	8. Chapter 8

_December 31 st_

New Year’s Eve snuck up on her the way it always did, quietly, in the night. It crept up behind her, delicately, in the way only a new year could, and it slapped her in the face only the way that the passage of time could. And with it came a deluge of unreasonable expectations and a frantic revelry that seemed to swathe every interaction with the sheen of false meaning.

Quinn had returned to Boston after Russell’s funeral and the general mess that was that week in Ohio. And instead of making any real progress, she had returned to normal. Homeostasis was what it was called. But in this case it was not a healthy thing. There was no balance, or stability, just the usual panicked feeling of slowly crashing to the Earth.

Her friends – her law school friends, she had to remind herself – had gotten it into their heads that Quinn – or Lucy, she was Lucy to them, she had to remind herself – and her roommate, Katrina, would host a New Year’s Eve party at their apartment.

Quinn had wanted to say “No,” she had wanted to say, “No, we can’t host this because Russell just died, and I’ve been ignoring my family for a month, and my whole existence is in tatters.” But she had to remind herself that she had never explained to her friends, her law school friends, that Russell was dead, or that her family was crumbling, or that her heart was in pieces back in Ohio.

So she agreed with a shrug.

*****

And just like that their already cramped apartment was made even smaller by the magic of adding 20 assorted classmates and acquaintances, a table of alcoholic beverages, and the din of a group of drunk people carrying on simultaneous conversations.

Voila! Instant torture chamber.

Quinn watched silently as the apartment filled with people she barely knew.

There was the girl who sat in front of her in Tax I last spring who had spent the class time playing some “Price is Right” game on her computer. Her name was Lydia and she was a whiny know-it-all – kind of the going rate for law school. She gave Quinn a hug as she came through the door with a bottle of cheap champagne, distractedly complimented her on her sweater and skirt combo, and then loudly declared, “The party just arrived!”

There was that guy who wore sandals year round, even in the winter. She thought his name was something classic and sturdy, like Fred or Frank, but she couldn’t be sure, so she just smiled at him when he came in with a six-pack of Sam Adams and a pair of flip-flops.

Their apartment was swarming. The air was filled with the competing volume of the television and Juli’s ipod (she had spent the morning tossing out playlist ideas, as everyone else cleaned and cooked. “It’s not still in bad taste to listen to Chris Brown, right guys?”) and 20 conversations about who was expecting to get which jobs with which firms after graduation, and another 15 about why Professor Winters’ grades were always the last to be submitted.

Quinn couldn’t be bothered with any of it. She couldn’t muster the slightest enthusiasm to brag about how well she had done on the Trusts and Estates final, and she wasn’t feeling indignant enough to complain with the group about the injustices of not getting into an upper level Criminal Law course as a 3L.

So she stayed hidden around the fringes of these groups, moving around chip bowls and collecting empty cups and beer bottles.

After a while, she weaved her way through the pockets of conversation and made her way to the kitchen to refill her blue solo cup with water.

Juli grabbed her arm before she could reach her destination.

“Lucy Fab, you need to try this. Graham just mixed me the most epic drink,” she gushed, thrusting her cup in Quinn’s face.

Graham looked on, a pleased look on his dopey face. Quinn knew that Juli and Graham had been dancing around their feelings for one another since they arrived at law school. According to Juli, tonight would be the night. “New Year’s Eve is how it begins,” Juli had explained to her earlier that day. After all, kisses at midnight were the catalysts for happily-ever-afters.

Quinn wanted to tell Juli that New Year’s Eve was just another let down; another day to mark off on the calendar, in a never-ending line of days to come. But, if the look on Graham’s face was anything to go by, he was on Team Juli, so maybe it was best to just leave them be.

Quinn raised her glass to Juli’s, “I’ve got my own,” she said before resuming her slalom to the kitchen. 

New Year’s Eve was always how everything began. There was a general consensus that a new year meant a fresh start. But Quinn couldn’t be too sure of that. For her, the past always got dragged along, no matter how hard you tried to hold it back and everything just rolled into each other. There was no such thing as a fresh start because the past always informed the present.

Quinn was counting on the New Year too though. Not in the same way as Juli. Not in the way you count on family to be there through the tough times, or the way you count on your professor to ask that one question you didn’t prepare for.

She was counting on it the same way she counted the number of miles between Boston and Ohio. She counted on the New Year the same way she counted the number of calls she had ignored from Santana and Brittany. She counted on the New Year the way she counted the days since she had last seen Rachel’s retreating form.

She kept an eye on her watch, and counted on the seconds between here and there. She counted the temporal distance between how things were and how she wanted things to be.

But the heaviness of that thought was too much to bear, so she settled into her chair in the corner of the living room and started counting other things. She counted the number of guys who were foolish enough to try to initiate a conversation with her (four), the number of drinks offered to her that she inevitably turned down (she lost count after eight), the number of times Katrina or Juli or Kate asked her if she was okay (a mess of times that got messier the more drunk they got).

She counted on these things as the time ticked down to that magical witching hour when dreams came true.

*****

Around 10:30 the party reached a new height of manic festivity. A game of beer pong had been set up on the kitchen table and Kate was dancing with her friends from the Women’s Law Association. Lydia was among them. She was shouting about how the current song was her “jam.” Quinn wanted to tell her she had no rhythm, but she said nothing instead.

She just sat motionless in the corner. A sober voyeur taking in the bacchanalia. She turned to the television, which was now muted, as Ryan Seacrest interviewed the latest in a long line of boy bands to consume the airwaves. She kept an eye on the time and her agitation only grew when she realized there was less than an hour and a half until midnight. Her agitation grew because no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t help it that her thoughts kept returning to Ohio.  

She rolled up her sleeves, trying to escape the heat that she had just noticed had been trapped under her sweater. Maybe it had to do with the fact that her apartment had been invaded by strangers, or maybe it was the fact that as the seconds ticked by she became increasingly more angry with herself and could feel the heat of that anger building under her collar, trapped between her skin and the wool of her shirt.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of another guy preparing to talk to her. He steeled his courage by draining his cup of beer and then sauntered over to her.

She bolted before he could get out his first, carefully chosen line.

Once again she threaded her way through the sea of people, but this time she didn’t stop at the kitchen. She walked off down the hall to her bedroom.

She carefully closed her door and turned to rest against it.

The sounds from the party were still loud, snaking their way under the door, but at least they were not assaulting her anymore. At least there was a buffer between her and the revelers.

She tried to slow her breathing. She took a sip of water and then pushed off the door and set the cup down on the edge of her desk. She stood in front of her desk and looked at the empty corkboard above it. It stood in stark contrast to the board she had back at her parents’ house, covered in the bric-a-brac of youth.

She turned to the rest of her room with its empty, white walls and nondescript comforter. The only place that looked lived in was her bookcase, but that was filled with law school textbooks and she couldn’t help feeling a little resentful of that fact.

How had she let _this_ become her life?

She stopped herself short of going over to them and throwing them off the shelves and onto the floor.

She felt her rage bubbling up, so she started pacing back and forth in the small space in front of her bed, trying to displace some of the energy she could feel coursing through her body.

What was she so angry about?

She knew it was probably a simple answer.

But she couldn’t admit that to herself – wouldn’t admit it.

Turning to her nightstand she spotted her phone.

She grabbed it and started scrolling through her contacts. She stopped at Santana’s name. She should call her. She should really call her, because Santana could talk her down off the ledge she had found herself on. But she hadn’t spoken to her since that Sunday after Thanksgiving, just like Santana had predicted. So, just to prove Santana right, Quinn wouldn’t call.

She knew who she wanted to call, who she needed to call. But she didn’t have that number. What would she say anyway?

So she called another number. She waited as the phone rang. She checked her watch and mentally calculated the time difference.

It picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello? Quinn?”

She could hear music in the background.

“Quinn?” The music got softer, like she was moving away from the source.

Quinn hesitated. She could still hang up and feign a pocket dial.

She settled on saying, “Hi Brittany. Happy New Year.”

“Oh, okay.” Quinn could hear her confusion. “Is it midnight in Boston already?”

“Not yet,” Quinn replied, sitting down on her bed.

The line remained silent for a moment before Brittany spoke again. “Are you okay?”

Quinn ran a shaky hand through her hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” she started. “I’m just…sorry.”

“No worries, Q,” Brittany tried to laugh. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” She paused for a second. “Santana told me you probably wouldn’t call until you hit rock bottom.”

And that was a punch to the gut. She could feel the air rush out of her lungs.

“Are you there?” Brittany asked when Quinn didn’t answer.

And Quinn really had to think about that question. Because even though Brittany didn’t mean it that way, she had to wonder if this was rock bottom.  

“Quinn?” Brittany asked again, and Quinn could imagine her looking at her phone, a finger to her ear, trying to hear her over whatever party she was at.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” she said, her voice fracturing between the ‘still’ and the ‘here.’

“You should really call her,” Brittany chirped.

“Who?” Quinn asked. Because honestly, the list of people she _should_ call was growing by the day.

“Santana. Who did you think I meant?” Brittany asked. Quinn could hear shuffling in the background and someone talking to Brittany. “Yeah Tina, I’ll be there in a sec, I’m just talking to a friend.”

“Tina’s there?” Quinn asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah, of course she’s here.”

“Tina Cohen-Chang? I didn’t realize –” Quinn was cut off.

“Oh no! Tina. My roommate Tina,” Brittany exclaimed with a laugh. “I’m sure I’ve told you about her.”

Quinn was sure she had too. But in that moment she felt the distance. Boston to California was just so many miles, but Quinn to Brittany, or Quinn to anyone for that matter, that was an endless abyss.

She thought of all the things that make a person, and all the things that she had missed because the sadness had always been all-consuming. She thought that _this_ Brittany was not the Brittany she had known, or the Brittany she remembered. All because of the years in-between and the things she never bothered to find out. And that just made her sadness deeper.

“Right, sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” she tried to apologize. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your party.”

“No, it’s fine,” Brittany brushed off her last comment. “It’s like, what? Eleven o’clock there? So you’re still good.”

“Okay…” Quinn trailed off, slightly confused.

“It’s not 2020 yet.” Quinn could faintly make out the sound of a bottle being opened on Brittany’s end. She listened as Brittany drank and proceeded to slurp into the phone. “2020’s going to be a good year for you. I asked a psycho.”

"A psychic?” Quinn asked after a beat.

“No, there’s this psycho in my dance class, but she also reads palms and tarot and that sort of thing. I’m pretty sure she keeps rats in a box under her bed.”

“That’s…that’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Quinn said with a shake of her head, as she tried to make sense of what Brittany was telling her. “So you’re trusting that this psycho psychic is a reliable soothsayer?”

“I’m a little drunk. I don’t know what that is. Is that something to do with dragons?”

Quinn could only laugh in response.

“No, you need to make a New Year’s Revelation,” Brittany said excitedly.

“Do you mean a resolution?”

"No, I mean a revelation. Resolutions always last a week and then you lose interest and nothing changes. You need a revelation. I’m pretty sure those are long-term.”

"So what’s my revelation?” Quinn asked, picking at a loose thread on her sweater.

“I don’t know. Listen, you’ve had like a decade to figure things out? Maybe the revelation is that you just have to go after the things you want and be kind to yourself for once.”

“I’ll try. Thanks for talking. I feel…”

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. A fraction lighter. A little less hopeless.

“You should call her though,” Brittany offered offhandedly.

Quinn thought about Santana. She was probably in Chicago with Cassie. Celebrating the New Year with friends Quinn knew nothing about.

“Maybe,” Quinn hedged.

“She has a boyfriend though. I just thought you should know,” Brittany added quickly. “But after the way you left things…” Brittany trailed off.

“Rachel.” Quinn said simply.

“Huh?” Brittany asked.

“You’re not talking about Santana,” Quinn clarified. “I thought you were talking about her.”

“Oh.” Brittany let that hang in the air.

“What would you know about how I left things with Rachel?” Quinn asked, her voice harsh even to her own ears.

“Well, we all got together at Christmas and she said some things,” Brittany said carefully.

“It wasn’t her place to say anything!” Quinn exclaimed, jumping up from her bed.

“No, no, calm down. She just was asking if anyone had seen you, or heard from you, she said something about a letter,” Brittany said quietly. “She just seemed upset, that’s all.”

“Well, she has her boyfriend. I’m sure he can fix that,” Quinn said bitingly.

The static of the phone line absorbed her words after a moment and she imagined them traveling through the air to wherever Brittany was drinking a beer.

“You do realize that someone can have a boyfriend and still have feelings for someone else, right?” Brittany asked carefully. “I’m just saying, I’ve been there. I mean, you’ve been there too. You should call her.”

Quinn deflated, thinking about what Brittany said. Perhaps she was right. “This isn’t high school, Brittany. Plus, I don’t even have her number.”

“Well that’s easily solved. I’ll email it to you and you can think about it,” Brittany said. “Hey, I have to go. We’re going to play Twister now,” Brittany said in a rush. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. Thanks Britt,” Quinn said quietly. “Happy New Year.”

With a quick “Happy New Year,” Brittany hung up.

*****

For the first time, Quinn’s room felt truly silent. But that was a trick of physics or something since the party was still raging on the other side of her door. Maybe it was that she had gone from feeling not so alone to feeling really alone in the space of milliseconds.  

She looked at her phone again and made the quick decision to call Santana. She couldn’t justify it as a drunk dial, and she wondered if there was such a thing as a pity-party dial. She waited for the regret to come.

“Hello?” She picked up on the second ring.

“Santana? Hey, it’s me,” she started.

“Oh, Quinn? Hey Quinn this is Cassie. Hang on, let me get her for you.”

Quinn thought about hanging up during the phone shuffle, but before she could hang up Santana was on the other end of the line.

“Quinn?” Santana said quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Quinn replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Brittany texted me that she was talking to you,” Santana said.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Santana mimicked, pointedly. “What the hell Quinn? You don’t come home for Christmas, you ignore all my calls, all my emails. I was this close to calling your _mother_ to see if you were still alive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, but you know what, nothing ever changes with you.”

Quinn was at a loss. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Quinn could hear Santana sigh across the line.

“I don’t want to do this,” Quinn said suddenly. “I don’t want to be that person who brings everyone down – which clearly I am.”

At that moment the door to her bedroom swung open.

“Lucy!” Kate exclaimed, bringing the noise from the party into the stillness of her bedroom. “Lucy, we found you. Stop talking to your secret boyfriend. The ball is going to drop in ten minutes!”

Quinn froze. Santana couldn’t hear this.  

“Come on Luce!” Kate called to her as she headed back into the fray.

“Oh Quinn,” Santana whispered. “What are you doing?”

And those were the saddest words Quinn could ever hear. The tears came without warning.

“Okay Quinn. It’s okay,” Santana tried to soothe, but her voice came through all garbled and static-y, probably a by-product of the heightened cell traffic on New Year’s.

“I don’t know anymore,” Quinn tried to say. But it just came out as a sob.

“You’re okay Quinn,” Santana said again a little more forcefully, like she could demand it and it would be true. “Hey, listen, we’ve made it through worse. Right? We survived Sue Sylvester and what passed for discipline with her. Fuck. We survived fucking Lima, Ohio. We’ll get through whatever this is too. _I’ll_ get you through this. Just say the word.”

Quinn thought about what Rachel had said, about how she couldn’t fix her, but here Santana was saying she could – that she would. But deep down she knew she could never ask that of Santana, but maybe it was enough that she offered.

“I don’t know that you can.” The words barely made their way out of her mouth.

Santana was quiet for a moment, and in that quiet Quinn could hear her sniffle and she knew that there was no static. It was just that Santana was crying too.

“Will you at least let me _help_ you? Will you at least let me be your friend again?” Santana finally asked. And Quinn could hear the tears in her voice.

And that was all it took for Quinn to surrender to yet another wave of sobs.

Santana let her cry. She stayed with her on the line. After a while she said, “Happy New Year Q.”

Checking the clock on her nightstand, Quinn saw that it was midnight.

“I should go,” Quinn said, trying to rub her eyes without devastating her mascara, although it was probably too late for that.

“Call me tomorrow?” Santana asked expectantly.

“Sure,” Quinn replied, and it wasn’t a lie. “Go enjoy the rest of your evening. You still have an hour left.”

“You should call Brittany. Tell her you’re calling her from the future,” Santana laughed, trying for levity.

“Goodnight, Santana,” Quinn said.

“Goodnight, Quinn,” Santana said.

*****

From down the hall Quinn could hear the familiar strains of “Auld Lang Syne” and a chorus of drunk people trying to sing along to words they didn’t know. It made her think of Charlie Chaplin and the loneliness of silent, black and white films.  

She thought about her sister and how she always repeated the old cliché that, “How you spend New Year’s Eve is how you end up spending the year.” If there was any truth to that adage, Quinn feared it would be a long year, and that thought was the stone that would sink her.

But she remembered what Brittany had said. She just needed a revelation. She rushed over to her desk and pulled out a notebook. She opened up to a fresh page. Across the top she scrawled, “ _New Year’s Revelations_.” She moved to the first line.

_1._ _Fix things with Brittany and Santana._

She allowed herself to smile because she had already started that, and it might prove easier than she had believed. She continued.

_2._ _Fix things with Mom and Frannie._

That one would be a little more difficult, but she felt hopeful for the first time in a long time that she could make things right with them.

She took a deep breath and wrote down the next item

_3._ _Fix myself._

She wasn’t sure what she expected, but a flood of relief was not one of them. But just by writing down those words she felt relieved; it was the first step. The world hadn’t caved in. That box in her chest hadn’t exploded.

She quickly moved onto the last part of her list.

_4._

She didn’t know what she wanted to write. She could put down “Fix things with Rachel,” but there wasn’t anything to fix. Not really. Rachel had made it perfectly clear that they really didn’t know each other anymore, so there wasn’t really anything to put right.

She could write, “Figure out how to get Rachel,” and she almost wanted to, but that wasn’t completely honest. It was an oversimplification of things.

So she simply wrote, _Rachel._

She’d figure out the rest of it later.

*****

She didn’t return to the party.

Instead she turned on her computer as the sound of fireworks from outside melted into the ambiance of the party noises.

She signed onto facebook, and after a few failed attempts at remembering her old password she reactivated her account. She had deleted it her Junior year of college, but now this was part of her plan to set things right.

She checked her email and saw that Brittany had emailed her Rachel’s phone number.

_Here it is…use it wisely_. That was all she had written.

She considered sending Rachel a message on facebook. She went so far as to look at her profile. But then she saw her picture, and she couldn’t justify doing that to her on what was arguably the happiest night of the year. Especially not when she looked so happy in that picture with her boyfriend.

So instead she updated her status.

_Happy New Year._

She tore her _New Year’s Revelations_ list out of the notebook and pinned it to the corkboard in front of her.

It was a start.

 

 


End file.
